


Until You See The Light

by Lapin



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arranged Marriage, Bad Parenting, Battle, Broken Engagement, Broken Promises, Dwarf Gender Concepts, Erebor, M/M, Politics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-09
Updated: 2014-11-07
Packaged: 2017-12-22 21:32:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 123,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/918248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lapin/pseuds/Lapin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fíli and Ori have broken no promises. Fíli did not try to force a marriage on one unwilling, and Ori did not run from Erebor like a thief in the night. And yet, the two of them are paying for the crimes of their family. Somehow or another, they must find a way to make a marriage work, in between the politics and the old hurts. </p><p>Smaug never came to Erebor's door, but then, there are greater monsters than dragons in this world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know what this is just yet. I will say that you need to watch the tags. They are subject to change. Things might happen. I will post specific warnings in every chapter where they apply though. Please read the notes if you know certain things will make you uncomfortable. 
> 
> Okay, that said...yeah. I needed something new to play with. I was going half-mad staring at the screen for the Bridal Veil series or my other fandoms. 
> 
> So let's try this!
> 
> That said, I did reference it in one small way relating to Fíli, because...well, because I can. 
> 
> Disclaimer: Title comes from the song _C'est La Mort_ , off the 2011 album Barton Hollow.

“It won't be so bad,” Fíli says on the first night. Ori is rolled away from him in the great big bed, his back to Fíli in just the light of the banked fire. Fíli had been more disappointed than he thought he would be when he had at last worked up the nerve to enter the bedchamber, and found his new husband already tucked beneath the covers and firmly on the side of the bed furthest from the fire.

He's very young, Fíli knows. His coming-of-age ceremony had been last week, Fíli had heard. Not that Fíli is much older, but Fíli supposes now that maybe just because he never cared a whit about his arranged marriage doesn't mean Ori didn't. He'd never thought much of Ori at all over the years, really. He had just been Ori, Fíli's future husband, in Fíli's mind. 

He's a scribe, Fíli knows now. 

“I'm not...I'm not terrible. Well, you know, my brother likes me, and my cousin, he never likes anyone, and he likes me. And not just because I'm the crown prince! I mean...what I mean is...” Fíli sits up on one elbow, fumbling for words for the first time he can remember. “You might like me, eventually. You don't have to be afraid though. I won't...I mean...what I mean to say is that you don't have to worry about anything...anything you don't want...” Was it his imagination, or did the little ball in his bed that was Ori tense a bit more? So he's awake after all. “I'm a decent sort, I think.”

Ori doesn't reply, so Fíli sighs and falls back on the pillow. He's staring at the canopy above them, one arm tucked under his head, wondering what he should do, when finally, another voice speaks. 

“A kind jailer is still a jailer,” Ori says, very quietly, and with a hoarse sound to his voice that gives away the crying that had to have been going on while Fíli paced in the receiving room. It made something painful curl in his chest to realize that while he had been debating whether or not to ask if he could undo Ori's braids, Ori had been weeping. 

For Fíli, guilt is uncomfortable, and mostly unfamiliar. So his thoughts and hurt feelings twist themselves up until they find a more familiar outlet: anger. He sits back up, glaring at the other in the bed. “If you want to blame someone for your situation, why not start with your own mother, the one who made the promise of the son, or your own brother, the one who did not keep the promise and left you in his place?” 

Now Ori sits up too, and Fíli sees his hair is in rest braids, instead of the complicated ones he had worn at their wedding ceremony. His eyes are still very red, as are his nose and his cheeks, and it makes him look very young indeed. “Mother had no right to give Nori away, but Prince Frerin had no right to demand him either! Just because we're not royals, doesn't mean we have to give in to every whim and wish of you and your family!” 

His silence comes as quick as his words, his hands clapping over his mouth. Fíli isn't sure which of them is more taken aback.

Before Ori can say anything else, Fíli does, his own flash of temper already dissipated, especially when confronted with a truth he can't deny. “Uncle Frerin was in the wrong,” Fíli admits. “I know that. We all do. But once the agreement was made, it couldn't be broken. One of your mother's children had to marry one of ours. Uncle Thorin is...well...and mother was already married, and Kíli was...” 

There's not a year between Kíli and Ori, and really, the promise should have been passed to Kíli. But Kíli had been a weak baby and a sickly child, and for a long time, it was thought he would not live past thirty. Even now, he tires easier than he'd like to admit. It's why Kíli prefers the bow over the sword. And it's why Dís had made sure the promise was made to Fíli, when Ori was still just a babe in a basket and Fíli was barely walking. 

“I...” Ori's voice is very quiet now, as his hands fall slowly away from his mouth. “I do understand. I just...” Whatever it is, he doesn't say. He only trails off, and without looking at Fíli, lies back down and tucks himself under the covers again. “I'm sorry, I'm tired. Good night.” 

Fíli could push it, he knows. He could keep the argument going.

Instead, he lets it go. 

“Good night, Ori,” he says, and settles back down in the bed, again tucking an arm behind his head. He stares up the canopy and the pattern he's never cared for, until one long blink turns into sleep. 

The next morning, he wakes alone, but then, he's naturally a late riser. It seems Ori isn't. Fíli usually doesn't get to indulge, but he supposes he's been given leeway today. Assumptions were probably made about his night. 

He rolls out of bed and washes up in the bathroom. There's a wet towel in the basket. Ori had a wash then at least, which is somehow reassuring. His new husband isn't so miserable he won't use what Fíli can provide. It's not much, but it's something.

Once he's dressed and presentable, he only does a brief search of the rooms without much real hope that Ori is hiding in one. He's not, so Fíli moves on to the rest of his day, joining his uncle and a few of the council members in the king's council room. They don't bother pretending to not be surprised to see him. 

His uncle's right hand, Dwalin, says what everyone is thinking, like he usually does. “Disappointing wedding night?” 

Glóin, a cousin, asks, “Is this really what we need to be discussing?” 

“Mahal knows, I need a break,” one of the guild heads groans, stretching so wide his back audibly cracks. He's one of the few people in the room not related to Fíli, the head of the Miner's Guild, and though he's not old, he's had a grey streak in the front of his hair for as long as Fíli can remember. “And I'd like to be able to give Dori some peace of mind. He's been up half the night thinking his precious little brother was being violated.” 

It's a distasteful comment, but seemingly only to Fíli. Everyone else chuckles or grins. Dori must have been the silver-haired Dwarf with the elaborate braids that had stood as Ori's family. The mother of the brothers was dead, had died a few years back of something his mother had called 'woman's illness', and Nori had been in the wind for as long as Fíli could remember, of course.

“Give him his peace of mind,” Fíli snaps, his mood not improved by the accusation. “I'm not a rapist, thank you kindly.” 

The guild head, Bifur, chuckles loudly, as does Dwalin. His uncle merely raises an interested eyebrow. 

“No offense meant to you, Fíli,” Bifur assures him. “And I'm sure Dori didn't mean to give any in the first place. He just worries, after everything. Practically raised that boy, you know.” 

No, Fíli didn't know, because it turns out he doesn't know really anything about his new husband. He's beginning to think proper courting measures might have been to both their benefits. Maybe then Ori wouldn't be so frightened of him, and Dori wouldn't think so little of Fíli. 

“I don't even know where he is, actually,” Fíli confesses, taking his seat at his uncle's left and reaching for an apple out of the plates of food scattered about the table. They're going over the new trade agreements with Thranduil's people, it looks like, and frankly, Fíli's not sure which subject he dislikes more right now. “I woke up and he was gone.” 

“Knowing Ori, he probably found some nook in the Library to hide in,” Bifur says. “Big reader, that one. Always has been.” 

“You know Ori's family?” Fíli asks skeptically. “How?” 

Bifur frowns, and says, “My sister was Dori's wife. Oh, but no, that would be before you can remember, wouldn't it? She passed when you were just a wee lad, Mahal rest her.” He takes out a pipe, and packs it with the sweet-smelling pipeweed the miners all favour. “Ori is a sweet boy, your highness. Don't be too disappointed in him, he'll take it to heart.” 

“What have I done that you lot all think I'm going to be the villain in this?” Fíli protests, fed up with all of them. “Can we get to work now? Please? Do something other than accuse me of things, at the very least.” 

They all share a look and another laugh at his expense, but then they get back to the paperwork and Thranduil's newest orders. The Elf King wants more weaponry, better weaponry. He includes several sketches of spiders that are the size of ponies from the scaling given, with diagrams showing where they are weak. He wants something that will kill them.

The quicker the better, to judge by the very precise wording in the documents. 

“I hate spiders,” Fíli laments. “I really hate spiders.” 

“Halberds, I would think,” Glóin muses, holding up one of the sketches to the light. “Can kill a horse, will kill a spider, I would hope, even one as big as this. Something that can penetrate the exoskeleton, without weighing them down. Elves rely more on speed in a fight, and in this case, it's probably the correct course. Will want to avoid that poison.” 

“You don't think a glaive would be better?” Thorin asks, pouring himself water. Fíli's uncle allows no servants in these meetings. He does not trust them to keep the secrets said here, and Fíli is inclined to agree with him. He's seen how easily rumors spread about the activities of his other uncle and his own mother. 

“A halberd would allow them to parry the fangs, like one would a sword,” Fíli points out. Uncle Thorin favours a sword, and while Fíli does too, he's more diverse in his weaponry choices. He likes halberds when his opponent is bigger than him, like Dwalin, prefers his two short swords when he's more evenly matched. “And fending off eight legs is no easy feat with a glaive. I still think better bows are going to be the answer here.”

“Thranduil says the arrows aren't penetrating -” Bifur starts, but Thorin is watching Fíli curiously, and raises a hand to stop Glóin. 

“What are you thinking, Fíli?” 

“That bow Gimli has been working on,” Fíli says, to his uncle and not Glóin. Glóin is a goldmsith, unlike his son, but Uncle Thorin is a blacksmith, like Gimli, and a master. He has to have seen the papers Gimli submitted for his master work. “Does he have it working yet?”

“It's getting there,” Thorin says, looking back down at the spiders. “You think it could force the arrows to penetrate?” 

“Not wooden arrows,” Fíli says, thinking aloud. 

“A composite, maybe...” Thorin adds. “Balin, have a copy of the plans sent to Thranduil today. Wouldn't want him to think we're slacking, after all.” The way his uncle so casually drawls the word _slacking_ tells Fíli that Thorin is still smarting over Thranduil's comment about the lack of results during his last visit. 

Fíli had been more concerned about the youngest son, a tall blond who was the exact mirror of his father, and _his_ words, but for entirely different reasons. 

They break for the day, his uncle wanting his midday and some time with his own work. Fíli thinks to take his meal with Kíli, but Bifur's hint to Ori's whereabouts is nagging at him. Instead of grabbing one packed lunch from the kitchens, he grabs two, and makes his way to the Library. Despite thoughts to the contrary, Fíli enjoys reading, and he's spent a good deal of time in the great room.

The smell of the books is familiar, and reassuring. He runs the fingers of his free hand over the spines of a row, enjoying the feel of the binding. He finds a librarian on a ladder, who points him in the right direction to where Ori might be. 

He finds his husband in the section of the epics, one opened against his knees where he's curled up in a bench seat built into an alcove, a lantern above him. 

“Brought you food,” Fíli says by way of greeting, holding up the second box awkwardly. “Thought you might be hungry, you left so early.” 

Ori looks at him, then the box, and slowly nods. “Suppose I am.” 

Fíli goes to sit, and is enthused when Ori budges over to make room for him. They both fit in the seat with room to spare, so it's alright. He's a little less hopeful when Ori just pokes at the food listlessly. “You don't like it?” 

“I don't know what it is,” Ori replies. “Your food is different. There's a lot of green things.” 

“Vegetables?” Fíli asks, raising an eyebrow. “Suppose you didn't get much of that, growing up. Bit more expensive. Have to be kept in the cold after they've been picked.” He's never thought much of vegetables, of the privilege they imply here in Erebor. Now he is, and he's uneasy again. “They're good. Not like meat, or bread, but still good.” 

Ori still seems skeptical, but he eats it anyway. After a few bites, Fíli supposes he likes it well enough, because he doesn't stop. “What do you like?” Fíli asks, when Ori doesn't seem inclined to pick up the conversation again. “I like apples, a lot. What about you? Do you like sweets?”

There's a few seconds where he thinks Ori is just going to keep eating, but after awhile, he says, “I like blackberries. Can't get them very often, but I like them.” 

Fíli grins. “You're my husband, Ori. You can have whatever you want.”

Ori only shrugs. Fíli struggles for another topic, but then he sees the cover of Ori's book. “ _The Ballad of the Nûlukhînh_. You like the story? I love it. My mother used to tell it to me when I was a child.” The tale of the dancing ladies of the Moon, the ones who twirled down on silken shoes to walk amongst the mines once a year. Fíli had always found it frightening and beautiful all in one, for the story said they might choose partners to dance with, and those partners would have no choice but to follow them back and dance amongst the stars forevermore. “I was always scared they'd choose me. I like dancing, you see. Do you?”

The silence stretches out between them for an uncomfortable moment before Ori finally answers him. “They're lonely, you know. They'll never find a partner they can keep.” 

“That's what my mother used to tell me,” Fíli replies with a laugh. “Did yours?”

“No,” Ori says, setting aside the lunch, only half-finished. Fíli thinks to ask the kitchens to lighten the vegetables for a few days, until Ori gets used to them. “My mother wasn't one for reading stories. Nori used to tell it to me though.” He blushes, like he thinks mentioning Nori is taboo still, so Fíli reaches out and covers Ori's hand with his own, hoping he won't be rebuffed.

“Our marriage pardons Nori,” Fíli reassures him, cheered a bit by Ori letting Fíli's hand stay where it is. “He doesn't have to sneak back into Erebor anymore. He can come home now. Can even come here and visit you, if you like.” 

Ori bites his lip, then asks, “Are you lying to me?”

“I haven't lied to you yet,” Fíli says, shaking his head. “If it makes you happy, I'll pardon him officially. For anything he's done. Anything at all.” Fíli is no fool. He's heard Dwalin go on about Nori of 'Ri, and his many crimes since he broke his promise. Thieving, mostly, as far as Fíli can tell, but that's easily forgotten by the people that matter, especially now. “I'm not going to lie to you unless Thorin orders me to. You're my husband.” 

That's perhaps not entirely true. Fíli might lie if Ori asks what goes on in Fíli's meetings with the Council, or if he knows what he might say will hurt Ori. Still, that's a lie Thorin has implicitly ordered, if not directly. Council meetings are private. 

Ori bites his lip, and something in Fíli's chest tightens.

“I didn't take you for a reader,” Ori says, while Fíli wraps himself up in his self-control. “Not that I thought you weren't smart, or something, only that everyone is always talking about you and your brother and the trouble you get into.” 

Fíli grins, and hitches his shoulder in a lazy half-shrug. “I suspect most of what you've heard is exaggerated. But you're half-right. Kíli doesn't like to read. Too much time spent confined to the nursery when he was a child. I like to read though. Always have.” He looks around at the shelves, thinking to himself. “You know, you don't have to come here to read. There are plenty of books in the study, and you can just have them bring you whatever you want.” He doesn't want it to come across as trying to confine Ori to their rooms, but instead, an offer to share the space more evenly. “Actually, if you want, I don't use one of the rooms very much, so it could be yours.” It seems more fair. They can share the receiving room, the sitting room, and the bedroom, and then each have their own private place. 

“So...I'll be staying with you?” Ori asks, looking down at his lap. “In those rooms?”

Fíli frowns, trying to think of what the problem is. “Did you want your own set? I think the ones beside my mother are open, but that's just a guest set, so there's only a receiving room and a bedroom. And Mother's rooms are freezing. Something is wrong with the pipes in that section.” 

“I've been cold plenty of nights, you know,” Ori says, more to himself than Fíli. “That's not what I meant though. I just...Dori and Nori made things sound very...different from how it's been since I arrived. No one has been cruel to me, or even very interested in me -”

“No one will be cruel to you either,” Fíli says sharply. “You're my husband, consort to the future king. People will pay you the proper respect.” 

Ori shifts, looking uncomfortable. “I only meant...I meant nothing. Could I really have my own room in the suite? That I could do anything with?” 

“Why not?” Fíli asks. “What exactly did your brother fill your head with? Are you frightened of me?” The idea is more than distasteful, so if it's true, he needs to remedy it, and soon.

“I'm not sure,” Ori says. “You're a prince.”

Fíli grins and leans forward, the closest he's been to Ori since he wove the marriage braids into Ori's hair in front of the whole court just yesterday morning. They've been married for one whole day now, he thinks. “Ori,” he says. “You're my husband. You're a prince too now.” 

He must sound more charming than he thinks, for now Ori smiles, and something inside of him brightens and glows under the expression. Ori smiles for longer than Fíli thought he might, brushing his braids behind his ear while he looks down, away from Fíli.

It's a start.

♦

The weeks fly by, like they always do when there's work to be done. Fíli's marriage finally leaves the gossip pool, those with the time to wag their tongues more interested now in some new scandal involving the Minister of War and her husband. It's of no concern to Fíli, as he observes Gimli's work with others from the guild on his clever new bow. It involves more gears and pulleys than Fíli thought possible on one bow, and takes a great deal of strength to draw, but even with normal arrows, it's clearly an improvement over what the Elves are currently using.

The arrows are more trouble than the bow, as it turns out. They're still trying to puzzle out the exact composite of the shaft, though the arrowheads themselves are done now. They're made of steel, but tipped in ruby and sapphire, and even a few in diamond. The tips are made from flawed stones, good for little else but slivers, but they're plenty hard, and plenty sharp. They should have no trouble penetrating the spiders' exoskeleton, if they can only get the shaft right. 

Either way, Thranduil is quite pleased by the diagrams they've sent him. The Elf King's hope is to lead a campaign against the foul creatures, straight into their main nest, effectively killing the source, and he hopes to use their weapons to do so, he writes. Fíli has been told the Elves produce fine weapons themselves, but it takes much longer, and Thranduil does not have the supplies to do so anyway. He'd rather trade with Erebor, and Fíli's not sorry for it. The Elves brew better wine and tea anyway, tea that Ori likes a great deal.

If Fíli writes a request to Thranduil for more, and even writes why, well, that's just keeping the bonds between Erebor and Mirkwood strong. Showing trust. Friendship, even.

Fíli finds some of his attention in Dale of course, as always. They wish for Erebor to allow more water through their dam, bringing snowmelt and rains down to the town. The Miners' Guild absolutely objects to this, as do a few other guilds, so Fíli acts as his uncle's sounding board as they debate the merits of both sides in Thorin's study late into the night. He thinks his uncle might compromise, and he agrees with that. Keeping the guilds happy is important, but it is more important to make sure one of their main food sources is not wanting for something as vital as fresh water. 

The spare room in the suite is now truly Ori's room, after hardly two months into their marriage. Ori had invited him in it when it was done, so that he could admire and approve of it. Ori has tapestries hanging from the walls now, depicting scenes from what Fíli supposes are his favourite stories, and a woven rug on the floor. The bookcases built into the walls are mostly full now, and not just with books, but with little personal things too. The desk is covered in paper and ink and quills, and there's a couch now too, the kind that's good for a nap. It's _cozy_ , is how Fíli would describe it, and Ori spends a majority of his time in it. 

Well, Fíli thinks he does. By the time Fíli usually gets to bed these days, Ori is already asleep, but Fíli's made an effort to seek Ori out throughout the day, just to see him, and if that's not entirely for Ori's benefit, well, that's Fíli's business. Still, he likes to make sure Ori is alright, and not too overwhelmed by his new position. And maybe bring him tea. 

Tonight though, Fíli finds his mind refusing to stare at paperwork or designs for one more minute. He goes to bed, his back aching from sitting hunched over a desk for too many hours, and when he gets there, Ori is sitting up, reading a book, his hair unbound around his face. 

“Oh,” he says, shutting it and putting it on the bedside table. “You're turning in early tonight.” 

“The letters were starting to blur,” Fíli complains, hanging up his swords. He'd taken them off in his study, but if he left them in there, he'd forget and never find them in the morning. He'd left his surcoat in the study, but a servant would eventually find it and put it where it belonged. He's too tired to go get it, instead shucking his shirt and throwing it into the laundry. Bare-chested, he sits on the bench by the wardrobe and takes off his boots. 

It's a bit nerve-wracking, changing in front of Ori when he knows Ori is watching. He most certainly is too, but Fíli doesn't think it's for why he's hoping. So far, they've slept on their own sides of the bed without touching once. Fíli has kept his word about not doing anything without Ori's encouragement, and as it stands, he's been given none. 

He turns his back to Ori to get out of his trousers, switching to the looser cotton pants he usually leaves across the bench in the morning. 

“Fíli?” Ori asks, and Fíli turns to look at him, now decent. “Does your back still hurt? You sounded like you were in pain last night.” 

“You were awake?” 

Ori shrugs, playing with the covers. “I always wake when you come in. Whenever I traveled with Nori, we had to wake at the slightest sounds, you know. It was usually someone trying to rob us or slit our throats, or an animal in the camp stealing food.” He lets the blanket go, and actually looks at Fíli. “I could help, if you want. Nori taught me how, for Dori and him. Weaving is hard on the back, you know.” 

“How?” Fíli asks, curious. 

Ori gets out from under the covers, and indicates for Fíli to lie down on the bed. “On your stomach,” he says, so Fíli obeys, folding his arms under his head, and turning towards the fire. Ori disappears into the bathroom, then comes back, and sits beside Fíli. “This might be strange,” he says. “But it's easier if I sit across your back. I'm not too heavy, I promise.” 

“I'm a Dwarf, not a Man,” Fíli grumbles, a bit rankled. He and Kíli are both a bit slight for Dwarrows. Thorin and Frerin both tell him that they too were that way when they were young, and in another twenty years, Fíli will be a bit more sturdy. Fíli's not sure he's patient enough to wait. “Do whatever you need to.” 

He supposes he spoke too soon when he feels Ori's weight settle across the small of his back, but not because he's too heavy. Ori is just in loose trousers and a shirt, so Fíli can feel the warmth of him, the way his body rises and falls with every breath. And he's all Fíli's, no one else's, not ever. 

Ori got oil out of the bathroom, Fíli realizes a moment later. It's the thick, perfumed stuff Fíli had received as a present from Thranduil during his last visit, as a sample of what he had to trade them. Fíli had thought he might find a different use for it, but when Ori presses it against his back, warmed by his hands, Fíli can't protest. It feels so good it hurts, as Ori forces the stiffness out of Fíli's back. 

“You're supposed to oil your tattoos, you know,” Ori says reprovingly. “They'll fade faster if you don't, and then you'll have to get them redone.” He works the oil in to Fíli's shoulders, where the most of his tattoos sit. He has the symbols of his adulthood, and the ones of his mastership. There are more that mark his status as the heir to the king, and of the line of Durin. One day, he'll have ones that shows he's the king. 

Further down, following along the right side of his spine, he has the tattoos from the Battle of the Lake, when the Orcs had swept through after his seventieth birthday, and the ones from the War of Three, when two clans had broken away from both Erebor and the Iron Hills and declared war on the line of Durin. Fíli had not left that one unscathed. The hearing in his left ear will never recover to full, according to the healers, and he should consider himself lucky he can still play a fiddle. 

“You were very brave, in this one,” Ori says, dragging a finger down one. Fíli almost shudders at the sensation. “Everyone spoke of it. How you led your regiment back for those soldiers.” He had done that, hadn't he? It hadn't felt much like heroics then. It had felt like desperation, like soldiers who were loyal to the Durin line dying when he could still do something. It had felt like weariness and fear, that the breakaway clans were right, that they weren't worth the crown. 

It sounds somewhat grand, the way Ori says it. Fíli likes that, the idea of Ori finding him brave. Still, he can't lie. He promised. “I was afraid,” he confesses. “When that Orc mangled my ear and my hand, it was almost a relief. I felt too lucky. I really wasn't brave at all. Just scared and stupid and...I couldn't let them die, thinking no one cared. I cared.”

“You don't know your own history,” Ori says, and it sounds like he might be smiling. “'Bravery is not the same as being unafraid. Rather, it is being afraid, and doing what is right anyway.' Your great uncle said that.” Ori is definitely smiling, and Fíli wants to see it. His back feels better now, much. “Being afraid makes you far braver, I think. You knew you might die, and you went anyway. You saved them all, including my cousin, Jori. He told me about you. Told me how courageous you were. You saved his life, you know, though I'm sure you don't remember.”

Fíli finds some courage somewhere, and turns over, grabbing Ori's hips so Ori stays straddled across his waist. Slowly, Fíli sees the colour rise in Ori's face now, as he looks down at Fíli. “Your cousin was the one with the braids like bows. No one but a 'Ri would have such braids on a battlefield.” He remembers him, the young soldier that had played a pipe and smiled far too much for someone on a battlefield. Fíli had liked him. 

“Yes,” Ori answers, a bit breathlessly, if Fíli isn't mistaken. “You should see how he wears them now. He can make flowers in them.” His hands are on Fíli's bare stomach, and he's Fíli's husband. Fíli can have this. Ori is his. He is Ori's. “It made me less afraid of you, when he told me about you. I thought that anyone who would risk their life for someone else couldn't be as bad as Dori and Nori kept making you out to be. You had to be a good person.” 

“You called me your jailer that first night,” Fíli reminds him, unsure of what any of this means. 

“And then you proved me wrong,” Ori replies. “You've been kind, an you've listened. Jori was the only one who told me you wouldn't be cruel. I was too frightened to believe him at first, but now I do. I think Dori and Nori were wrong about you.” He looks like he might not quite believe that just yet, but Fíli will take what he can get. 

Ori's hips are slimmer than any Dwarf Fíli has ever lain with. They fit in his hands very nicely. Perfectly, even. Fíli drags his thumbs up over the bones, under Ori's shirt and down into his trousers. Ori is very red now, even in the dim firelight, but he's not saying anything. 

“Unless you want a real wedding night to happen, I suggest you get off me,” Fíli warns. He can't help who he is, can't help that his possessive heart wants the one who is his to truly be his. 

Ori does not. 

“Why didn't you push me, that first night?” Ori asks, biting his lip. 

“Because you were frightened,” Fíli answers, unsure of why that's even a question. 

Ori nods, and then, to Fíli's absolute shock, leans down and kisses him before climbing off. It's short, barely Ori's mouth brushing his, and it's over before he even knows it's happening. Ori not staying on top of him tells Fíli that he doesn't want things to go any further, at least not tonight. But for the first time since their wedding night, he has some hope. 

“Could I hold you tonight?” Fíli ventures, sitting up a bit on his elbows. “It's alright if you don't want me to, only I never have.” 

Ori is silent for so long that Fíli thinks he might say no, but then, so quietly Fíli has to strain to hear it, he says, “Yes. You can.” 

So Fíli waits until Ori is settled beneath the covers, then slides beneath them and wraps an arm around Ori's waist, holding him close against Fíli's chest. The stress of the past few weeks has been bled out of his shoulders, and the comfort of having Ori trust him is more than he thought it might be. Ori smells like lavender, oddly enough, over the general scent of Dwarf; hair and skin and warmth. 

Fíli falls asleep with the scent in his nose, and when he wakes, it's still there, despite Ori being gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this Fíli is perhaps more serious than the Fíli we think we know, but in this universe, Erebor never fell, and Fíli has had to be an adult for much longer. He's still very much himself, as we'll see with his interactions with his mother and Kíli. Also, tattoos. I'm fascinated by them.


	2. Chapter 2

“Red, right-hand corner,” Kíli says, drawing his bow. 

Fíli snorts in disbelief. “In your dreams,” he says, right as Kíli fires. His arrow pierces the target neatly, and he turns to Fíli with a smirk. 

“Sorry, what was that?” 

“Apologies, dear little brother,” Fíli says, drawing his own bow. “I forgot you were part Elf.” He lets loose his own arrow, right as he says, “Blue, center right.” He hits as well, but his target was not as difficult as Kíli's, and his little brother knows it. 

“Rather have pointy ears than no ear,” Kíli teases, and draws again. “Blue, three from the right side.” As always, his aim is true, and his arrow sinks into the very center of the named target, deep enough to be a killing blow. 

“Yes, you're both very pretty,” Gimli drawls from his place behind them. He's seated, reading a letter. A long letter, it looks like, one with an all too familiar seal on the packaging. It looks like Fíli's cousin has received yet another gift from his admirer. “Kíli, I need you to test out the new prototype tomorrow, if you please. Thorin wants something to show Legolas when he gets here, and that'll be in a week's time. I want to work out the kinks first before the Elf finds something to complain about.” 

“Legolas?” Kíli asks, frowning. “Who's that?”

“Prince Thranduil's youngest son,” Fíli answers, not quite hiding a scowl. “Are you still writing him?” 

Gimli raises an eyebrow. “What business is it of yours?” 

“He's Thranduil's son,” Fíli reminds him. “And an Elf.” 

“He also knows more about weapons than you ever will,” Gimli replies, not at all angered from what Fíli can tell. But then, Gimli's never been prone to much bad temper, unlike Fíli and Kíli, or even Gimli's own father. “Besides, they're our allies. It's good to maintain the bonds of friendship.” 

“As long as friendship is the only bond you're making with him,” Fíli says, a little more sharply than necessary. 

Kíli grins, and looks between them. “What, it's not like Gimli is interested in tumbling an Elf. Mahal's name, can you imagine?” When neither of them laugh, he sobers, and looks at Gimli. “You're not, right? I mean, they're our allies, but...he's an Elf. Gimli?”

“Relax, Kíli.” Gimli folds the letter and tucks it away inside his shirt. “Fíli is seeing things again. Always thought that Orc's poison must have damaged your brain too, along with your hand.” 

Fíli sneers, and goes back to the targets. Gimli had been in the War of Three, but he'd been in a different regiment entirely, away with the smiths that Thorin had lent to Thranduil's forces when he came to their aid. It had been after the war that Legolas and Gimli had started writing one another so frequently. No one else seems to have noticed though, and despite his own dislike, Fíli can't bring himself to do something that would hurt his cousin and rob Gimli of his shield-brother. 

“Red, right-hand, middle,” he calls, instead of thinking about it any more. He misses, and swears aloud. “Your turn, Kíli.” His little brother hits Fíli's intended target with hardly a pause to aim, and Fíli tries not to let his resentment show. Kíli might be physically weaker than him, but his vision is far better than any of theirs, and his aim is always true. 

“So,” Kíli says, overly casual. “How is...um...everything? With Ori?” 

“Fine,” Fíli answers, shrugging. “I suppose. He kissed me last night.” 

“At this rate, you'll have sex on your deathbed,” Gimli jokes, his sketchbook back out in his lap now. “He's quiet, Ori. I hardly ever see him without a book, and when he doesn't have a book, he's drawing something. He's quite good, actually. I can see how he got his mastery so young.” 

Fíli hums in agreement, aiming at another blue target. “Blue, bottom left-hand corner,” he calls, and fires. He manages to hit, and leaves the last one for Kíli while he sits beside Gimli on the bench. “I've seen him drawing, but he's never shown me any of them. Are they really that good?” 

Gimli nods. “Better than some twice his age. He's got an eye for detail. Would wager his sight is as good as Kíli's, especially after I saw him with that slingshot.” 

“Slingshot?” Fíli asks, while looking his bow over. 

“Your husband's weapon of choice. He was here on the range yesterday morning, using the thing. Never seen one like his. But he hit forty-three out of fifty. Must have been taught to hunt with it.” Gimli shows Fíli his sketch. “What do you think?”

It's the new bow, with a new gear added. They've found an odd pull in it when they draw it back too far, and this is apparently meant to compensate. It looks like it will, but Fíli will have to see what Kíli and the other archers think first. Fíli's fairly decent with a bow, better than most, but he's not a true archer. He doesn't feel what they feel when they hold a bow. 

“Looks good,” he says, and hopes it'll be enough to do what the Elves need it to. 

Gimli looks at him, then Kíli, doing something with his bow. After a moment, he says, “It's alright if you like him, you know. He is your husband.” 

“He never wanted to be,” Fíli reminds him, playing with his bow. “And no one ever asked me either, actually.” 

“Doesn't mean you have to keep tiptoeing around him like he's made of alabaster,” Gimli says, quietly enough Kíli won't hear. Gimli at least is always careful to speak to Fíli's good side, where everyone else forgets. His hair covers the bad ear, for the most part, and people forget that he can't hear much out of the left side anymore. “He's a Dwarf, and don't you forget that Nori ran, and Ori didn't, even though I'm sure Dori and Nori tried to smuggle him out. He's not weak. He might look it, but he's not. He stayed, and fulfilled the promise.” 

Fíli supposes that's true, and says as much, but then he adds, “That doesn't mean he wants me.” Still, Ori had kissed him last night. He had touched Fíli of his own free will, had eased the ache in his back and straddled Fíli's waist, all of his own volition. “I don't want to be like Frerin.” 

“Your uncle did wrong by that family,” Gimli says vehemently. “No one here disagrees with that. He hadn't the right to ask for a person, like Nori was a toy he could own. And some might say Nori was wrong to run, but I don't fault him for it. It's too much to ask of a person, demand that they marry someone they don't want to. But you and Ori both did, to save your families from the shame. You're both in a bad position.” 

Somehow, hearing someone, _anyone_ , give Fíli some sympathy too instead of just assuming he was the one in the wrong takes a weight off his shoulders. He hadn't exactly wanted to be the reason someone was miserable for the rest of their lives. He wanted a spouse who wanted him too, not someone who was afraid of him. “I do like him,” he confesses, soft enough no one but Gimli and Kíli will hear. 

Kíli looks up at him, his face sympathetic. “You're not unlikeable,” he says, the best compliment a brother can offer. “And besides, he can't hate you, because he watches when you train with Dwalin.” 

Fíli has a less than kind reply until he actually registers what Kíli has said. “He what?” 

“He watches all the time,” Kíli says, handing his bow off to a servant. The arrows they've shot into the targets are already being yanked out, and gathered back up, so they can either resume practice, or move on to a different weapon. Fíli is eager for his two swords, and the opportunity to best Kíli, but he notices the way Kíli is breathing, heavy and laboured. He's trying to hide it, but Fíli sees it and knows Kíli shouldn't be fighting with swords today. Maybe he can get Gimli to pick up his axe instead. “I thought you knew?”

Fíli snaps out of his all too familiar worry over Kíli and his breathing, and shakes his head. “No. Didn't even know he knew I'd be there.” 

“Here's a thought,” Gimli says, working on his sketch again. “Ask him.”

Fíli smirks. “Easier said than done.” 

“Fíli, I say this as a brother that loves you more than anyone, except maybe our mother,” Kíli says, with a world-weary sigh. “Find your spine, wherever you've left it, and actually talk to your husband. Or...” Here Kíli smirks. “I will. After all, one prince is as good as the other, isn't it?”

“Kíli, why do you insist on making me want to kill you?” Fíli asks casually, narrowing his eyes at his brother. 

“Why do you insist on acting like a big prissy Elf about things?” Kíli replies, cracking his knuckles. “For pity's sake, you're the heir of Erebor, the future king. If you can't talk to your own husband, I fear for the kingdom, and I will take the crown, before you destroy us.”

Fíli is unamused, despite Gimli and Kíli's matching grins. “I won't hesitate to put you both in exile.” 

“Like you would,” Gimli somehow manages, through his laughter.

“Yeah,” Kíli agrees, laughing just as hard. “Brother, perhaps it's escaped your notice -,” he leans close, and grins, “- But we're your only friends.” 

“I could make new friends,” Fíli protests, feeling a bit put out. 

“And I could go live with the Hobbits and call myself a sheep,” Kíli replies, right before he slams into the dirt, Fíli's ankle hooked around Kíli's leg. Fíli tucks his own leg back and smirks at his little brother from his place on the bench. “Uncalled for,” Kíli groans, his voice muffled by the dirt. 

“No,” Gimli says, shaking his head. “That was called for.” 

“Hate you,” Kíli grumbles, turning over so he can sprawl in the dirt like the lazy child he is. “I have dirt in my nose, just so you know.” 

Fíli shrugs, and sits back on the bench. “He watches? Really?” 

His little brother sighs, and rolls his eyes. “Yes, my dear, vain brother. Your husband watches you train. Of course, he might be watching Dwalin. Maybe his taste runs more towards big Dwarrows. Maybe he's imagining Dwalin fucking him every night -” 

Fíli kicks Kíli in the head and Gimli roars with laughter.

♦

Fíli retires back to their rooms early that night, very early. Thorin had complained of a headache, and when the king went to bed, so did the king's council. He finds Ori in their sitting room, curled up on one of the couches with a blanket over his legs, a book balanced on his knees. To Fíli's pleasure, he actually smiles a little when he sees Fíli.

“Hello,” Ori says, shutting his book. “Are we actually going to eat dinner together tonight?” 

“Do you want to?” Fíli asks, taking off his swords. He puts them on the table they go on, for once, and hangs his surcoat up on the hook it belongs on. He's sure the servants will be more perplexed than thankful. “And even if you don't, could you help me out of my armour?” His back has stiffened up again, and just the thought of reaching for his laces is painful. 

“Of course,” Ori says, rising, his book set aside on top of the blanket. 

Fíli holds his arms up for Ori, unable to fight back the groan of relief when the laces were loosened and the pressure was taken off his back and shoulder. “Thank you,” he says, meaning it from the bottom of his heart, and Ori grins up at him. He gets the other side undone, then helps Fíli out of both pieces. 

“You're lacing it too tight,” Ori lectures him, setting it aside near Fíli's swords. “That's why it's hurting your back.”

“If I don't lace it tight, it rubs at my arms,” Fíli complains. 

“Then it's not fitted right,” Ori replies, frowning while he examines the pieces of it. It's boiled leather with pieces of plate mail, and though it looks practical, Fíli's not too sure. It had been a betrothal gift from his cousin, also Thorin, Lord Dáin's eldest. “Is it new? It feels like it.” 

“My little cousin, Thorin, he made it for me for our betrothal. I think he still needs some practice.” Fíli shrugs. “I never wore anything like that when I was in battle. I just wore leathers then.” This armour's leather is different from his old pieces. Thicker, not as soft and moveable. He'd thought it was something he just had to adjust to, but Ori makes it sound like he's been ridiculous. “He's a bit younger than Gimli, I think.” 

“Well, your cousin likes too much decoration,” Ori says, tracing the design worked in. “No wonder you're always so stiff when you get into bed. You need something better. Jori makes wonderful armour, you should try his work...” He trails off, his face reddening. “Not that I'm trying to get my cousin business! I was only talking.” 

Fíli half-laughs, rolling his shoulders. “I remember that,” he says, nodding. “Jori was good with armour, wasn't he? Fixed mine and everyone else's.” 

“He is,” Ori says, relaxing again. “He got a shop started, after the war. He's done well for himself.” 

“Figured he'd be one of the ones who would,” Fíli says, undoing the clasp that holds his hair back and marks him as a prince of Erebor. Loose, his hair is thicker and easier to tangle. He drags his fingers through it, hoping to make it at least resemble respectable. “War never seemed to touch him like the rest of us.” 

It's a stupid thing to say, entirely too personal, which strikes Fíli as distinctly odd, because Ori is his _husband_. 

However, when he looks over his shoulder, scared he's frightened Ori back into his shell, Ori is looking right at him. He reaches towards Fíli, the piece of Fíli's armour still in his other hand, and brushes Fíli's hair back on his left side, showing the bad ear beneath all the braids. “When the war happened, Dori and Nori smuggled me out. They were frightened I would sign up, you see.”

“Would you of?” Fíli asks, not sure he's allowed to press about Nori. He is interested in what Ori meant last night when he spoke of traveling with Nori, wants to know where he went and what he saw outside of Erebor. Fíli's never been further west than Mirkwood, never been beyond the Iron Hills to the northeast, and those were all during war or diplomatic missions. He thinks Nori might have taken Ori somewhere far more interesting, and far less awful than a battlefield.

Ori smiles a little, the tips of his fingers catching on Fíli's mangled ear in a way that makes Fíli's chest tighten. His fingers are cool, noticeably so, and Fíli catches the hand in his own, wrapping up Ori's fingers like he can keep him warm. He thinks that was probably in their vows somewhere. He'd stopped listening somewhere around when the official had started quoting Fíli's grandfather, Mahal keep him.

He holds Ori's hand for far longer than necessary, Ori's eyes on him like he's not sure what to do. Fíli's heart aches for something he can't quite name, and it's what compels him to press a kiss to the pads of Ori's fingers. 

Ori is his. He is Ori's. 

“You fight like a soldier, not a lord,” Ori says, surprising Fíli. Ori seems surprised too, but he keeps talking, like the words won't stop. “When you train with Dwalin, you use falchions, and you keep that blade in your vambrace, as though...”

“Swords are heavy,” Fíli says, answering an unasked question. “Battles go on for hours, days even. Mine are lighter, and they let me use both arms in case I lose motion in one. I have, you know. When that Orc bit me in the War of Three, he got my hand first.” He flexes his left hand for show. Free of his vambrace and his glove, the scars are visible, thick and ugly and jagged. “I couldn't wield a weapon with this hand until it healed, and even now, I can't hold a full blade.” It hurts to even admit, but it's true, and he promised he wouldn't lie. “I kept trying, but my fingers, they just...” They just hurt and tremble until he can't hold the grip anymore, until the sword falls to the ground with a clatter while Fíli swears and holds his hand to his chest in pain. “They don't work that way anymore,” he says, because that's what he can manage to admit aloud. “As for the knife in my vambrace, that's just a work knife. I used to use it for cutting rope and things like that. My vambrace feels wrong without the weight though.” 

Ori listens to all of this without interrupting once, something no one has ever done. Kíli hates to hear about the war, hates to hear about how Fíli almost died. So does Mother, and truthfully, Fíli would never admit any weakness to Thorin. Frerin...well, Fíli's never been close to his other uncle. Something about having to pay for Frerin's arrogance and obsession had always left a bad taste in Fíli's mouth. 

Gimli doesn't like to talk about the war at all, and Fíli is content to let him be. Gimli had been at the Battle of the Wood, after all. It's partly that battle that makes Fíli hold his tongue about Legolas to their elders, because if it hadn't been for the Elf prince swooping in with his horse and his bow, plucking Gimli from the field of death like one of the Eagles of legend, his cousin would rest now with the stones. 

Fíli knows the bond of a shield-brother. 

Now it's Ori who takes Fíli's hand, his left hand, exploring all the ridges and valleys of it like it's a particularly difficult map he's trying to understand. The pad of his thumb sweeps over where the Orc's incisor had dug in, nearly severing the tendon, missing it by a hair, and Fíli supposes his embarrassment must show on his face, because Ori ducks his head and presses the sweetest of kisses to the scar. 

“Ori...”

“You were very brave,” Ori says again, his tone too firm to argue with. “And you saved all those people. They were just weavers, and armourers, and bakers, they weren't anyone important, and you went to them anyway. You should have seen Loom Street. Everyone was singing your name, like you were already the king.” 

This is the first Fíli has ever heard this, and he frowns, confused, as Ori comes closer. 

“You're not Frerin,” Ori says, and that might be the greatest praise he could bestow on Fíli in their situation. 

“Thank you,” Fíli says, because he is thankful he's not his uncle. He's thankful that he can look at Ori and want him and restrain himself, is thankful he's not the kind of Dwarf who takes what isn't freely offered, is thankful Ori doesn't hate him for what his family did. 

They're interrupted by a knock on the door, but it's only a servant. When she sees Fíli, the two of them standing so close, her surprise shows for only a second before she smoothly recovers and asks if she'll be bringing supper up for two instead of one. “Yes,” Ori tells her. “Thank you.” 

Fíli uses the moment to excuse himself to their bedroom, where he strips down to something more comfortable and gets washed up while supper is brought up. By the time he comes out, it's already been set out. It's nice, actually, to have someone else to sit with while he eats, to actually have someone to talk to. 

“So, when you said I always woke you, you said you'd traveled with Nori. You left Erebor?” Fíli asks, curious and hoping that Ori's praise of him means Ori trusts him enough to talk to him about his own life.

Ori nods, and pours himself another cup of tea. “It wasn't for why you think,” he says. “Dori wanted me to learn about the world, the places Erebor trades with. He thought I should at least be informed. And Nori liked getting to spend time with me, as I did with him, since he couldn't risk coming back to Erebor.” He adds more sugar to his tea than anyone Fíli knows, including Kíli. “But maybe he also hoped I would leave with Nori and never return.”

“You didn't though,” Fíli says, broaching a subject he's not sure he should. “You stayed. You went through with the marriage.” 

“Nori wanted to come home so much,” Ori says, more to his tea than Fíli. “He hid it from Dori. He never wanted to add more to Dori's burden and his guilt. He longed for home though, like any Dwarf. And I knew I would too, if I left with him. We're Dwarrows, and we need our mountain. I'm not like Nori, I wasn't in love with anyone, and I kept thinking of Nori, and how lonely he was, and I thought of Loom Street, that day, when everyone sang for you...and I thought it was worth it. If anything, so Nori could be with the one he loved in the open, instead of sneaking into Erebor and only getting a few hours with him. So Nori could come home, and we could be a family again.” 

Fíli is honestly a bit amazed at him, this little scribe who agreed to marry a perfect stranger just for one person. He's not sure he would do the same for Kíli. He might leave his little brother to take his knocks like a Dwarf. 

He's very brave, Fíli thinks. 

“Have you ever been to the sea?” Fíli asks, because he's never seen it, and he's always wondered what it's like. 

Ori brightens. “Once, when I was younger, before I finished my mastery. Nori took me all the way to the Great Sea. We traveled with a caravan going to the Blue Mountains. Nori taught me how to sail on the river, and we went all the way to the shore.” 

“What's it like?” Fíli asks, wanting him to go into detail. 

“Oh, well...” Ori frowns, and looks at his tea, obviously thinking. “It's bright. Like, when you go down into the town, and stand on the lake's edge? The sunlight reflects off it, and it makes it so bright it takes a long time to get used to it. I got very sunburned, actually. And it's very strange, because you look out, and see the sky touch the water, and it goes all around, and it's just so big. It frightens Nori because of that. He says it makes him feel nervous.” 

Fíli wonders if it's like the few times he's had to leave the inside of the mountain, and venture out. When he looks down, and sees all that can be seen from the top of the Lonely Mountain, and it's so much he has to sit down and breathe deep until his mind falls back into order. Or like when he was east of the Carnen, and he would look further to the east and see only grasslands, stretching on and on forever. He had preferred to look to the north, and see the Iron Mountains rising up. 

“It smells like salt,” Ori says, somewhat distantly. “You can smell it before you see it. Salt, and water. And you hear the waves on the shore. They're like...like the sea is breathing. And the water is cold. And full of sand.” 

Fíli longs to see it. “Is it beautiful?”

“Yes,” Ori says, nodding. “Oh, wait, I have some things I can show you. Come see, in my room.” He stands and tugs on Fíli's arm, encouraging him to his feet. Fíli follows, interested and pleased at being invited into Ori's room. Inside, Ori starts running his fingertips over the spines of sketchbooks on the shelves, until he finds whatever ones he's looking for. 

After he puts them on the desk, he goes to another shelf, full of thicker books, and grabs one with green binding. Finally, he pulls a wooden box off a shelf full of them, and sets it down with the other things. 

“Look, see, I did all of these while I was there,” Ori explains, flipping open the top sketchbook. 

Gimli wasn't exaggerating. Ori is very talented. 

And the sea is beautiful. 

“And look, I pressed all these flowers too, to take back with me so I wouldn't forget, and so I could show Dori when I came home.” He flips open the thick book, and shows Fíli the plants that have all been carefully preserved between the pages of the book. They've been painted over with something, some kind of varnish, Fíli presumes. “And these are what I managed to collect while we were there.” Now he opens the box, and carefully lays out his treasures. 

There's pieces of glass, edges rubbed smooth and the surface left foggy. When Fíli picks up a piece to examine more closely, Ori explains, “The place where we stayed, there were all these glass makers. Their pieces went everywhere, but a lot of it went to Ered Luin and the port towns. A lot of it gets dumped into the water, and the sea beats it smooth.” 

He takes the sea glass and hands Fíli something strange; a stiff, fragile-feeling thing that reminds him of a wheel, with a center, and five spokes. It's bumpy, like a rock, but when he flips it over, there's a hole in the middle, and the undersides of the spokes are different from the top. 

“It's called a sea star,” Ori says, practically bouncing beside Fíli. “It's a little creature that lives in the sea, and if you take it out of the water, it dries like this. See, this is its mouth, and these are its legs.”

“This was alive?” Fíli asks, disbelieving. 

“It sort of crawls on the sea floor, using these little toes inside the the legs,” Ori says, taking it back. “And these are shells, you've seen shells though...” Ori lays them out, and though Fíli has seen shells, he's never seen any like these before. “But I do...well...” He pulls out one more item, something wrapped in fabric. “I have these too. Nori told me to never tell anyone I had them, to save them in case I needed money, a way out of Erebor.” He unfolds the cloth, and shows Fíli his secret. 

He has a dozen pearls. 

Fíli has seen pearls before, of course. His mother has a string of them that she only wears on special occasions, and she's never allowed Fíli to touch them. They're rare here in Erebor, so rare that this many pearls would certainly have gotten Ori out of Erebor and far away from here. “Where did you get them?” he asks. 

Ori has a very strange expression on his face, as he opens one of the sketchbooks and shows Fíli a portrait. It's of another Dwarf, with dark hair and dusky skin. He's grinning in the portrait, and when Fíli turns the page, there's another page of him, little profiles and one that might be his hands in the corner. The next page is him half dressed, in front of a washbasin. 

“Who was he?” Fíli asks, unsure of if he wants to know. Ori is his now, he reminds himself. Only his and no one else's. It doesn't matter who this Dwarf is, really. He doesn't matter. 

And yet, Fíli wants to know. 

“His name was Jomshi. Everyone called him Jom though, because his father was Jomshi too. His family farmed the oysters, so they could get the pearls. He gave these to me as a...” He trails off, and looks at Fíli a bit fearfully. 

“They were a courting gift,” Fíli finishes, feeling a bit numb inside. “He was trying to court you.” 

“No one knew us there,” Ori says, still sounding a little afraid. “And I'd never been courted. No one had ever treated me like he did. He said he loved me. Wanted to marry me.” 

Fíli almost can't ask the next question, but he cannot help himself. “Did you love him? Want to marry him?”

“It was a very nice idea,” Ori says wistfully. “We would have had a home by the sea, and it would have been a small life, and I did care about him, but -”

“Stop.” Fíli shuts the book, shuts Jomshi away. 

“ - But my promise was to you,” Ori finishes anyway. “If I'd made him a promise, it would have broken the one I had with you. And no, I didn't love him, if that makes you feel better.” 

Fíli is sorry to admit it does, and he nods. 

Ori opens the book again, and flips a few pages forward, to another portrait. “This is Nori, my brother.” 

The Dwarf in the picture is clearly sitting for the portrait, and he looks unhappy about it. It's a profile picture, showing the elaborate braids his hair is gathered in. Fíli counts seven about the Dwarf's frequently pierced ear, all pulled up to the crown of the Dwarf's skull. The hair above the braids is unbraided, and gathered up with the braids. Nori wears some kind of knot at the crown, the braiding complicated and indiscernible from just a sketch. His beard is long too, gathered in one queue and tied at intervals. Unlike Ori, this Dwarf has titian hair, and sharper features than Ori's soft face. 

“He doesn't wear his hair like this anymore,” Ori says. “It's too long now. He's never cut it once, not even his beard.” 

“Your family stops cutting hair after they reach adulthood, right?” Fíli asks, trying to push Jomshi from his mind, especially the angle of Jomshi standing at the washbasin. If Fíli had to guess, he would say Ori had to have been sitting on the bed, and the thought is simply unbearable for him. 

“Yes,” Ori answers, reaching for another sketchbook. This one he flips through before he finds whatever page he's looking for and comes to stand beside Fíli with it. “I've drawn you too, see?” 

He has. He's drawn Fíli training with Dwalin, and even one of him sitting somewhere, in his surcoat with the rabbit fur. He looks bored. He wonders when it was drawn, where. Maybe the Grievances Hall? He's usually bored in there. Had Ori come one day to watch? 

He takes the book from Ori, and turns the page to see his uncle, the Raven Crown on his head. It's only half-done, as though Thorin had moved. The next page has some very tall outlines, and the page after that has a surprisingly familiar figure. It's Legolas, stringing his bow. And beside him, Gimli. 

“When did you draw this?” Fíli asks. 

“A few months ago, before we were married. They were in the training yard together. I'd never seen a Wood Elf so close before. It's one thing to hear that they're so tall, another entirely to see it. And I'd never seen anyone with such light hair. Lighter than yours, even.” He reaches out and touches Fíli's hair, the braids that hang over his ears. “Do you mind? Me drawing you? Some people don't like it. It makes them uncomfortable.” 

“No, I don't mind,” Fíli says. “I don't mind at all.” In truth, he would rather Ori draw him than anyone else. Especially after seeing that one of Jomshi, after knowing for sure that someone else has touched Ori, kissed him, loved him. “Do you like drawing me?”

His husband smiles, and nods. “I don't quite have your braids right, of course. It'll take a bit more practice. And I don't have your tattoos memorized, but, well...” Ori trails off, and there's a bit of colour in the apple of his cheek.

Fíli kisses it, and freezes immediately, frightened of his own daring. Ori hasn't said anything, had only been trying to be friends here, and Fíli had ruined it, as always -

His thoughts stop when Ori turns his face up and kisses Fíli on the mouth. Fíli's aware of Ori's hands on his shoulders, of his own hands finding Ori's waist somewhere under his knitted cardigan. He has to angle his own head down a bit more than he thought he would to meet Ori's mouth, but it still works well enough. 

He fits in Fíli's arms. Fíli fits around him. 

This is good. 

“Oi, Fíli!” 

Ori breaks away from him, his face red, as Fíli groans. “I'll kill him,” he swears. “I'm just going to kill him.” It's too late though, Ori has already stepped away, gathering his cardigan back around himself. Fíli thinks he must have loosened it in his blind exploration of Ori's waist. 

“Fíli, where are you?” Kíli calls, from the sitting room it sounds like, so Fíli only gives his little brother another moment before he bursts into Ori's room, his face breaking out in a triumphant grin when he spots Fíli. “There you are, what were you -,” He pauses when he sees Ori, then looks between the two of them. “Ah, Ori. How are you?” 

“Fine,” Ori says, busying himself with straightening up all the books he had taken from the shelves. “And you, Kíli?” 

“Fine,” Kíli answers, and damn him, he's about to start laughing. Fíli can see it in his face. 

There's nothing to be done but grab him by the collar and force him out of Ori's room, and back into the sitting room. He makes sure to shut Ori's door too, less to shelter Ori and more so he doesn't hear what Fíli is about to do to Kíli. 

“Someone had better of declared war,” Fíli threatens him, getting a handful of his brother's hair. “Or Uncle Thorin decided to name you heir, or something valuable is on fire, or Mother is about to murder you -!” 

“Sorry!” Kíli hisses, though he's grinning, the prat. “Didn't realize you were finally getting your leg over! Mahal's name, stop, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!” He's still laughing, and Fíli will thrash him later, but not when Ori can hear, so he lets go for the time being. “It is about Mother though!”

“What about Mother?” Fíli asks, eyeing Ori's door, just to make sure it's closed. 

“Mother's guard, Toin, you know, the one with the red hair, Óin's son -” 

Fíli shakes his head. “Tell me you didn't Kíli.”

“Why would I do that, you know I did. Twice, in fact.” He grins all the wider when Fíli groans. “Anyway, that's not the point. He says Mother is up to something. She's been looking at table settings with Kreza.” Now Fíli frowns. Kreza is the butler, the head of their household servants. “And talking about menus.” 

“She wouldn't,” Fíli says, shaking his head. 

“She's _Mother_ ,” Kíli reminds him with all this ominous intonation their mother deserves. “All I request, dear brother, is to be left off the invitation list. Your wedding was bad enough. Mother and that brother of Ori's, glaring at each other across the court, I thought Uncle was going to have to hold her back.” He means Thorin. Frerin had been well on his way to drunk by the time the ceremony had started, and would have been of no use in stopping their mother from doing whatever she felt like. “I certainly wasn't getting in the way.” 

“Don't blame you,” Fíli says, sitting down and resting his head in his hands. “Did your friend give you an idea of when?” 

“Three days from now, which means she was going to tell you the day of, to make sure you wouldn't try to weasel your way out of it.” Kíli sits across from him, putting his feet up on Fíli's table. 

“Which I would have,” Fíli admits, once again in awe of his mother and her intimate understanding of the pair of them. If Dís had been the eldest, if she'd been queen...sometimes it gives Fíli nightmares to think about. He thinks it might give everyone nightmares. “I'll have to tell Ori.” 

Kíli grimaces. “Has he really had any personal time with Mother?” 

Fíli shakes his head. “She's been busy with the guilds. The Armourer's is having some kind of supply issue with the Blacksmith's, and they're claiming discrimination. She's been trying to smooth it out, but you know how they all get, especially when the grandmasters get involved.” He frowns at his little brother. “Shouldn't you be with her? That is going to be your job once I'm king.” 

“Probably,” Kíli says, with a sigh. “I'll ask to accompany her tomorrow. Hopefully I don't get another ladle thrown at my head.” His good mood is almost entirely gone, and Fíli doesn't blame him. The thought of dealing with the guilds at their worst is just painful. “You know you can't send him in there blind. You have to warn him. Especially if Frerin is there.” 

“Mother wouldn't do that,” Fíli says, but Kíli nods. 

“She would, and she will, to remind Frerin just who is in charge. She'll want to show Ori's brother too, to make sure he knows just who is going to be running Ori's life. She'll want him to know that Frerin has no power here anymore.” 

He's not wrong. After what had happened, their grandfather had at least stripped Frerin of most of his rights and responsibilities, giving them to their mother and their father. And when the old king had lost the crown, Dís had taken on all of them, in order to spare Thorin, a newly crowned king, even more weight. Fíli and Kíli had been old enough to be cared for by nursemaids for the most part by then, thankfully. 

It's for the best, really, Fíli thinks. Dís will have all the knowledge needed to pass to Kíli, instead of him needing to follow both Frerin and their mother around. 

“What will Ori do, once you're king?” Kíli asks suddenly. 

“I hadn't thought about it, honestly,” Fíli answers. 

“Might want to,” Kíli cautions him. “He's still getting used to us now, I understand that. But he's not going to like being cooped up in here like a pet for the rest of his life. Besides, if you give him something to do, maybe he'll like it more here.” 

“Maybe.” Fíli will have to ask Thorin. He really hasn't thought about what Ori's role will be in Erebor, once he's king, but he will have one, won't he? There hasn't been a consort in so long, Fíli's not even sure what their job is, exactly. “And you are coming to that dinner, by the way. Or I'm telling Mother you've been having it off with her guards again.” 

“Bastard,” Kíli says, sinking down into the couch. Fíli thinks to kick him out now, and get back to Ori, hoping that Ori might kiss him again tonight, at least, but as always, his little brother has a different plan in mind. No sooner as he sworn at Fíli then he gets a devious look on his face and springs up from the couch, heading for Ori's room. 

“Kíli, I will break every bone in -!” Fíli starts, but it's too late; Kíli is inside and talking.

So far, due to circumstances and Fíli's own desire to keep Ori away from Kíli until he had Ori a bit more comfortable with the marriage and the new household, his husband and his brother have had yet to really meet and talk at length. 

It can really only end in disaster. 

He stands, and goes to the doors, intending to save Ori from Kíli, but when he gets there, Ori is snapping, “That's very fragile, be more careful,” and smacking Kíli's hand like every librarian has done to him since they were children. 

Kíli is staring like he doesn't quite know what to do.

Fíli leans on the frame of the door, a bit impressed. “Ori, you've met my brother, Kíli. As you can see, he doesn't much improve with time.”

♦

“Is your mother really that frightening?” Ori is asking, his back to Fíli as he removes his final shirt, showing his bare torso. His family and mastery tattoos have a violet sheen to them, an addition to the ink, Fíli suspects. The 'Ri family colour is violet. “Kíli made her sound like a dragon.” He removes his trousers, his back now entirely naked to Fíli, so he looks his fill, until Ori pulls a dressing gown on over himself. “Fíli?”

Ori turns, and sees how Fíli is looking at him. Slowly, his face starts to redden, and he pulls the robe tighter around himself. 

Fíli lowers his eyes. 

“My mother is intense,” Fíli says, answering him at last. “She's Thorin's real right hand, not Dwalin. She likes to ensure that everyone understands just how powerful she is. Kíli thinks she wants to show your elder brother especially.” 

“Dori or Nori?” 

“Both, I suppose,” Fíli says, trying to be honest. It's hard sometimes, harder than he thought it might be. He doesn't like to say anything that will cast his mother or anyone he respects in a bad light. He wants Ori to like them, after all. This is going to be his life from now on, Fíli's family and all that entails. “You too, even.” 

“Me?”

“My mother wants to remind everyone in that room just who she is.” Fíli keeps his eyes own when Ori comes closer. “I think she might be a bit hurt that I haven't arranged tea with us and her already.” He should have done it already, but he's been busy, and...

And...

And he'd wanted Ori to himself. Wanted Ori to like him, and think of the best of him, even after his mother and his brother and Gimli had done their best to ruin Ori's opinion of Fíli. He wanted Ori to know that even at his worst, Fíli was still a decent person. 

“I'm going to take a bath,” Ori announces quietly, when Fíli doesn't say anything else. 

“Yeah, all right.” 

Fíli gets ready for bed, but finds that once he is, all he can think about is kissing Ori. He tries to think about the guilds, about Gimli's bow, about the awful ordeal dinner with his mother and Ori's brothers is going to be. He tries everything, but his traitorous mind keeps going back to Ori, and the way he feels against Fíli, the way he kisses. 

The doors to the bathroom open, and Ori rejoins him, so he tries to force his mind on to any other subject. 

He tries, until he realizes Ori is standing outside the bath, in just that dressing gown, his hair wet and loose around his face. He's watching Fíli with something that might be determination in his face.

Fíli sits up in the bed, pushing the covers back. And waits. 

When Ori comes closer, letting the robe fall open, he waits. 

When Ori pushes it off, he waits. 

Until Ori climbs into the bed, into Fíli's lap, completely naked, clean and smelling of lavender, Fíli waits.

He only pauses once, hovering over Ori and feeling oddly young as Ori looks up at him. “I'm not inexperienced,” Ori says, frowning. “You don't have to worry.” 

He doesn't seem to know just what those words do to Fíli.

He spends the rest of the night trying to erase that experience from Ori's body, trying to take away the touch of anyone but him, while hoping Ori's kiss and Ori's hands do the same for him, that they strip away everyone but him, that they leave Fíli as just Ori's, because he's never been anyone's. He's always been Erebor's, always been so much more than who he feels he is, and for just this act, for just this bed, and for just Ori...

He only wants to be Fíli.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't even know. Criticism is welcome.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ori thinks on the situation, and receives a visitor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little Ori interlude. I wish I could draw. I could make some fun art for this if I could. Damn shaky hands.

Ori is not a late riser by nature. He's up with the sun usually, even though it's been a long time since he had to wake with Nori to pack the camp up, or with Dori to go to the guild house and wait at his feet while he worked. On a typical morning, he would wake while Fíli was still dead to the world. 

This morning though, he wakes to the sight of Fíli dressing, his hair still loose and unbraided around his face. With his own face hidden in the pillow, Ori can peek at Fíli all he likes without worrying about being caught. It still feels a bit naughty, despite Fíli being his husband. 

He'd thought he must be a terrible person, the first time he'd gotten a good look at the prince who would be his husband, because instead of finding him horrid...he'd thought him handsome. Very much so. Ori had never said that to Dori or Nori though, not once. Frerin was handsome too, of course. It meant nothing. It should mean nothing. 

He's still not sure why he went to Fíli last night. Is it only because he finds his husband handsome? He supposes not, if he's generous with himself. If Fíli wasn't always so kind, so eager to please, and if Jori had never told Ori about the crown prince riding to their rescue during that terrible battle, Ori doesn't think Fíli's good looks would mean much of anything. 

But he is kind, and he is eager to please, and he was very brave and noble on the battlefield. He works very hard too, not at all like Nori had painted him. Nori had described Frerin as somewhat lazy and irresponsible. Fíli is not either of those things though, from what Ori can tell. He is nothing like Dori and Nori made him and the royal family out to be. He's not Frerin. Not at all. He's kind. He's always been kind, even at their engagement. Even then, Ori had felt a shameful twist in his belly when he found Fíli handsome. 

“I can feel you looking at me, you know,” Fíli says, with a smile tugging up the corners of his mouth. 

Ori's face burns, and he hides in the pillows a bit more. Or he would, if Fíli didn't sit beside him on the bed and lean over, caging Ori in with his arms. 

“I think this is the first time I've ever woken before you,” the prince says, still smiling. “Am I allowed to feel a little pride over that?” 

Ori laughs, rolling his face into his pillow to muffle it. It's such a terrible thing to say, and Dori would be scandalized, but it's said in such a playfully arrogant way that Ori can't help himself. When the movement provides Fíli the opportunity to bury his face in Ori's neck, - and _oh_ , that's going to be a sense memory now, isn't it?- Ori's laughter dies and turns into something a bit more pleased, a sound he didn't know could be drawn out of him. 

“You're terrible,” Ori says, pushing him away. “Do you want me to do your braids?” 

It's a mindless offer, one he's made a thousand times to Dori, Nori, and others they've traveled with over the years. He's even braided Elves' hair more than once. But the way Fíli lights up reminds Ori that Fíli is his husband, and braiding his hair is a very intimate thing for Ori to do, even more than sex to some people. Definitely in the 'Ri family. He doesn't think Dori has allowed any lovers since his wife to even touch his hair. 

Well, he thinks, just because he's offered to do Fíli's, doesn't mean he needs to let Fíli do his. 

“I wouldn't ask,” Fíli says, looking a bit shy. “But I'd like it if you would.” 

Ori can't imagine Frerin ever saying such a thing, or looking at someone like Fíli is looking at him, up through his lashes, a lock of hair falling forward from behind his ear. 

It makes Ori feel a bit like a traitor to his brother, really, the way his heart beats too hard when Fíli smiles at him like this. It's not love, of course. He doesn't love Fíli. But he's not sure it's any better to be a little infatuated with him. 

Still, he gathers Fíli's hair back in the style of a prince, clasping it with the silver piece he wears it in, and then does his braids up, even his mustache and beard. After doing Dori and Nori's braids so often, Fíli's are little more than child's play. Ori made more complicated ones in the scrap thread and ribbons he'd played with as a child. 

“How did you get them so neat?” Fíli asks, studying the longest one that sits in front of his ear. “I've never been able to do them so well.” 

“It's easier when someone else does them,” Ori demurs. 

“I suppose,” Fíli says with a sigh. “I have to go. Uncle has received news from Lord Elrond, and that means King Thranduil will send an envoy to forbid us from trading with or even acknowledging his cousin.” He rolls his eyes, and again, Ori laughs. 

“Is Lord Elrond really Thranduil's cousin?” he asks. “And does he really hate him that much?” He cannot believe that of such a regal looking figure as the Elf King. Whenever Ori has caught sight of him, he's never dared to even breathe too loudly. The other Elves Ori has known remind him of very tall, slender Men, but King Thranduil reminds him of Thorin a bit, in that he seems more like a story than a real king. 

Fíli seems pleased that Ori's laughed, and he smirks. “Yes, to the second. You should see how his lip curls when he says Elrond's name. As for the first, I'm not actually sure. I assumed the Elf Lords were all related somehow.” He seems a bit confused, but he only shakes his head and smiles. “Unfortunately, King Thranduil will send his youngest son. He always does. And then I will have to keep watch on my little cousin and him.” 

Ori frowns. He knows who Fíli means, Gimli, son of Glóin, a younger Dwarf who has admired Ori's work more than once since his marriage. “Why?” He'd thought the Elf Prince was Gimli's friend. They seemed so close when Ori had spied them together in the training yard. 

“Another time,” Fíli says, sighing. “I'm still happy, and if I think about it, I'll just get upset with him. If you don't mind, I'd prefer to go into a Council meeting about Elves without any added stress.” 

“You're happy?” Ori asks, teases really, because he is the worst little brother ever. He shouldn't be doing this. 

“Yes,” Fíli answers, and tips Ori's chin up for a kiss. “I'll try to be back by supper, if you want to eat together. Kíli and Gimli could come tonight, if you like. So you could get to know them a bit better. Or whoever you like.” 

“I'd like it of you brought them,” Ori says agreeably. He's not sure it's the truth, but he'd like to be amiable. He hadn't been very fair that first night, or the days following, blaming Fíli for something that wasn't either of their faults. He hadn't wanted to know Fíli, or Kíli, or even Gimli. 

It might be nice to make friends now. 

“Good,” Fíli says, and seems to mean it. “I had better go, before Uncle comes looking for me. He won't be pleased if he finds out I'm late because I decided that staying in bed with you was a better way to spend my morning.” 

He leaves at last, his hair much neater than Ori has ever seen it, even on their wedding day. Before he ducks out the door though, he says, “Just get one of the servants to bring you breakfast, if you want to stay in bed a bit longer. There's usually one lurking, but you can just ring the bell in here.” 

Once he's gone, Ori ventures out of bed, securing his dressing gown around himself. After he's gotten cleaned up, he investigates the bell Fíli mentioned. “So that's what you're for,” he muses aloud, pulling on it. No sooner than he has, someone is knocking on the door to the receiving room. The servant outside is waiting with an expectant look on his face, so instead of admitting he was only experimenting, Ori requests breakfast, like Fíli said to. 

He tidies his own room while he waits, putting away everything he'd gotten down for Fíli and later Kíli. Fíli had been fascinated by Ori's drawings of the places he'd been with Nori, and had wanted to know every story Ori had been willing to tell. It had been unexpected, like everything about Fíli has been so far. 

“You were never very curious about me,” he says to the pearls in the box. “You never even asked to see my drawings of you.” 

Jomshi had been something of a rebellion, he supposes. He'd liked Ori so much, even professed love, and it had been nice for the most part. Despite being his intended, Fíli had never paid him the slightest attention, never even visiting Ori's family home whenever the princess came. 

Jom had been Ori's first. The first time had been all right, Ori supposes. He'd been too anxious to really enjoy it. It had gotten better, and then worse when Jom wanted to go a bit further than hands and mouths. Jom hadn't really known what he was doing, and it hadn't felt very good the few times Ori had let Jom do it. He hadn't liked it much the other way either. 

Leaving Jom had not been as hard as it should have been. Ori had left him a letter instead of saying good-bye, uncomfortable with anything more personal. He'd felt wrong for keeping Jom's gift, but Nori had forbid him from doing anything as stupid as giving up such valuable items. They might come in handy later, he'd advised. 

He shouldn't have done what he did. It was wrong. But he'd needed to test Fíli's kindness, had to be sure. His attraction to Fíli had been twisting him up, and he'd wanted a reason to put a stop to it. 

And then Fíli had continued to be kind. He'd even been jealous, Ori had seen it, yet still, his temper had held and he had done nothing Ori could be frightened of. Nothing that made him any less amiable. He'd looked so startled when he'd kissed Ori on the cheek, and Ori had thought it sweet. 

He'd thought it very sweet. 

He hears the servants setting out breakfast in the sitting room, so he decides to wait until they're gone before he emerges. Speaking to them, ordering them about, it feels wrong still, and he's all the more awkward when they're in the room with him, cleaning things up or taking away the laundry. So he hides, and feels worse for being so rude. 

“Your highness?” Ori almost jumps out of his skin at the voice beyond the door. “We're just going to make the bed and then we'll leave.” 

It's the maid he sees most often in their rooms, an older Dwarf called Charin. She's done her best to be very kind to Ori, and he's grateful for it, but she makes him nervous. He's ready to stop speaking, when he realizes what she'll see if she goes in their bedroom. “Oh, wait,” he calls, and hears her pause. 

“Yes?” 

He has no idea what to say. “Nothing,” he replies miserably, his face burning. 

When they're all finally gone, Ori goes back out, his face still pink. He'll never be able to look any of the servants in the face again, he knows. Not that they didn't probably already think he and Fíli were intimate, but now they _know_. 

The distraction of it all is what he'll blame for why he doesn't notice his guest until he hears, “I would say marriage suits you, little brother.” 

“Nori!” he cries, and turns to see his second brother standing in the doorway to the bedroom. His hair is in a different style from how he'd worn it when Ori saw him before the wedding, not his complicated star shape, but instead four braids on top of his loose hair, all of it back in knot twisted and braided to resemble a many-pointed star at the crown of his skull. He's looped his beard up into his mustache instead of twisting it into points, more similar to his previous style. Not only that, he's combed something through his hair to turn the titian colour a shade of brown. If Ori hadn't known who he was looking for, he might not have recognized him. 

Which is probably what Nori wants. 

His elder brother does not look happy to see him. “I got a job in the palace, under Shiori's name.” Shiori is their cousin, a Dwarf who resembles Nori somewhat. Nori could pass as him, if necessary, and has done so before. “I thought I would be rescuing you. Not find myself amongst a group of servants who have nothing better to do than gossip about how infatuated their prince is with his new husband, or you in his rooms.” Nori's disappointment reaches its peak as he says, “In his _bed_.” 

“He's my husband, Nori,” Ori says defensively, embarrassed of being in just his dressing gown, his hair loose and still mussed. “If I want to share his bed, I will. It's my decision.” 

“He's Frerin's sister-son!” Nori hisses, all rage and sharp bite. 

“He's Thorin's sister-son too!” Ori snaps back, ashamed of his brother finding out that Ori didn't hate Fíli. That Ori _liked_ him. Was attracted to him, even. “Just...he's not what you said he was. He's not Frerin.” 

“Frerin could be _very_ charming when he felt like it,” Nori reminds him, not coming closer. “But when that charm didn't work, when he found out that I was being courted by another, he...” Nori trails off, huffing in anger. “He ruined _everything_ for me, and this family allowed him to. Including our beloved king and princess, if you recall.” 

“ _Nori_ ,” Ori tries. 

“You're in that bastard's bed, Ori! Don't try to excuse that with me! Don't!” 

“I'm not!” Ori shouts back, hurt by the accusation. “But I'm married to him, Nori! For the rest of my life! I went through with this for you, so you could come home, so don't you dare try to make me feel bad for making the best of this!” The words pour out like a dam has burst and he cannot stop them now. “He's been very sweet, and not like how you think. He never touched me until I came to him -”

“You did _what_?” Nori asks, and Ori is cringing now, despite his brave words. “Ori, tell me that's not true. Tell me you didn't do that, please, Ori -” He reaches out for Ori when Ori tries to get away, grabs him by the arm and holds him in place. His elder brother is looking at him, horrified. 

“Nori, he's my husband,” Ori tries, and looks at the ground because he can't meet Nori's eyes. 

“Did he tell you it was a condition of the marriage? Was it in your contract?” Nori bodily turns Ori, almost shaking him. “Ori, he has no right to demand that of you, I swear, he doesn't, he _lied_ -”

For some reason, the insult to Fíli's character offends Ori. “Nori, he never did anything like that! When I say I went to him, I mean it! I like him, and I wanted to!” 

It's the truth. He'd liked kissing Fíli, liked the way Fíli kissed him. Fíli was somehow polite about the whole thing, his hands on Ori's waist and nowhere else. Even when Ori was on top of him, Fíli hadn't faltered. He'd wanted Ori's consent. 

He'd _held_ Ori. 

“Why?” Nori asks, finally releasing Ori, giving him the chance to adjust his dressing gown. “Why would you do that?” He gestures around the sitting room, encompassing the whole of it. “I know it's not for this. You never cared about fine rooms and servants and soft beds. So why? Why would you do that?” 

Ori shrugs, and looks around the room. The furniture is nice, very nice, and everything else in the suite is nice too. All of it is finer than anything Ori had ever had growing up. But now these are his things too, aren't they? He's napped on the couch, and taken his tea in here, and had the Library send up his books. 

“This is my life now, Nori.” It's the only answer he has. “It can't be changed. I'm married to the heir of Erebor, and you are pardoned. You can come home now, and you can be with -” 

“He _approves_ of the marriage,” Nori all but spits. “That's what he told me. That I didn't need to worry anymore, that Fíli was enamoured with you, that he'd never seen the crown prince so attentive of another person's needs.” Every word is laced with loathing and disbelief.

“Enamoured?” Ori had never dared think...but Fíli has been very attentive, hasn't he? Very much so. “With me?” 

Nori stares at him. 

“Ori, you can't trust him,” he says, trying to come closer to Ori again. “Ori, I know he might seem very kind. He might even be kind. But you and I, we know how this family works, don't we? What they'll do to hide their own flaws?” 

He does. He knows exactly what Fíli's family would do, has lived with it for as long as he can remember. 

Though he's seen that the family has punished Frerin in their own way, by his absence from Fíli's talk of the daily meetings and decisions, and even mostly from the Court, what they had done to Nori is inexcusable. Forcing him into an engagement he had not agreed upon, and then declaring him a criminal for not loving someone who saw him as a possession. Nori had been forced to wander for all these years, sneaking in to Erebor just to see them, and all because of this family. 

Ori feels ill. 

“I know,” he says. “But if he's unhappy with me, they'll just ruin us more. I have to be nice to him. And if he's...like you say...then all the better he thinks I feel the same. He'll leave our family alone, won't he?And if Frerin's...if it happens again....Fíli outranks him. And if Fíli cares for me somewhat, he'll...he won't want me unhappy.”

Every word feels evil and wrong. Fíli has been better than Ori had any hope of expecting, and all Ori can say is that it will make him easy to manipulate? It goes against everything Dori has ever taught him, goes against Ori's own nature even.

Nori seems to feel the same, from the way he frowns. “That's not like you,” he says, sounding defeated. “You're not me, Ori. Give us both some peace and don't try to be either. It won't do anyone any good.” 

His second brother tugs on the end of one of the loops in his beard, frowning as he wanders about the room some. He picks at Ori's breakfast, his frown softening when he takes the lid off one of the silver bowls. “Blackberries and cream,” he says, in a very quiet sort of way that reminds Ori of Dori. He thinks he himself might use that same tone too sometimes. “One of the maids said his Highness specifically requested that whenever the kitchens could get these, you favour them. And the cook has noticed that you like a little clotted cream too.” 

Somehow, the idea that Fíli had remembered something so small, and been so thoughtful about it, makes Ori blush more than being caught with tussled sheets and loose hair. 

“I'm sorry, Nori,” Ori says, as Nori helps himself. Nori usually takes food whenever it comes, whether he's hungry or not. It breaks Ori's heart. “I did it for you, not for Mother, not for their family's honour. I never meant to like him.”

The look Nori is giving him is unreadable. But then, nobody has ever managed to read Nori's face completely, as long as one didn't factor in Dori. Dori was a mind reader not only for Nori, but Ori too. They only have to so much as think of nicking a chip hot off the pan, and Dori is eyeing them, holding up a wooden spoon in warning. 

“Be careful, little brother,” Nori says, in a strangely even tone. “It was hard enough getting myself out. If I have to smuggle you out too, it'll take more than that little secret of yours to get us out safely. If I were you, I'd start hoarding any little presents he gives you. Just in case.” 

Ori should be shocked that Nori would say something like that, but it's Nori. Ori's heard him say much worse. Seen him _do_ much worse. So instead, he nods. “If I can, I will. Listen, Nori, you can't be here like this. If someone catches you in here, in disguise, you'll be in so much trouble.” 

His brother waves a dismissive hand. “As though I could be caught. Have you forgotten so much about me already here in your little music box?” 

Nori teasing means he's back in a good humour. It isn't as though he's ever truly upset with Ori for long though. Ori's always known that Nori's guilt over the whole situation has made him a soft touch for Ori, and though he's tried to never take much advantage of it, he's grateful for it now. 

“You should see how many books there are,” Ori says, wanting to share his happiness with someone who could understand what it meant. Their family had never been wealthy, and books had been a commodity they could never justify. He knew well how hard Dori and Nori had worked to get him a new book for every birthday. “The Library is so big, Nori. And I can go whenever I like now, and Fíli has all these books in here, and he likes to read, can you believe that?”

Nori smirks. “Well, one of them has to know their letters, and I wouldn't have put my money on the younger one.” It's a little mean, but Ori doesn't blame Nori for it. His hatred for Fíli's family runs too deep. “Dori will be happy to hear you have your books. I'll tell him when I get home.” 

“Do you think...” Ori shifts uncomfortably. “Do you think Dori might come visit? If you ask? I've written him ten times now and he never accepts the invitation. I know he's busy, but...” But he misses his eldest brother more than anyone. This time of year is busy for the Weavers' Guild. The cotton is being shipped up from the town, to be readied for weaving. Dori's fingers are probably stained with dye, despite how careful he is, and his silver hair will take on a coloured tint until it's done. “Only I'd like to see him.” 

His second brother shrugs. “You know Dori. He worries. And he feels guilty. He thinks he should have agreed to marry Frerin in my place, like the old king wanted, but...”

“He was still in mourning when the old king suggested that,” Ori says hotly. He's heard the story, and it doesn't incline Ori towards the former king. “Nori, please, tell him that it's alright. Tell him I'm not being harmed, that I...that I like Fíli. Tell him that. He'll feel better.” 

“No he won't,” Nori says brightly. “And you know it. But that will make him come visit...or send him into a full temper...hmm...I do believe I will tell Dori now.”

“ _Nori_ ,” Ori hisses reprovingly. “Nori do not get Dori riled up just to do it!” 

His elder brother smiles, and clucks him under the chin. “There's my little brother. I've missed you, sweetling. And despite the circumstances, I am glad to see you well.” He grins, and knocks their foreheads together. “I'll see you often now, as often as I dare.” 

“But you're pardoned now,” Ori protests.

“Not in Frerin's mind.” Nori gives the door a dark look. “Speaking of, I should go, before I'm missed. Shiori will be upset if I make a bad name for him here.” He winks, and then he's gone, slipping out the door without a sound. He might be someone else entirely by tomorrow, but either way, he's back in Erebor, and that's all Ori wants. 

The tea smells like roses. 

This is the tea they can only get from trades with Mirkwood. The one he loved. 

_Oh_ , he thinks. 

He decides to take a bath instead of working. It isn't as though he's had real guild work since his official betrothal eight months ago anyway. It had felt wrong to take work from the others when they all knew that he was engaged to the heir of Erebor. His family would only be poor until the marriage, and theirs would still need money after those six months had passed. 

Now his family has more money than they've earned in their whole lives, Fíli's family's marriage payment. If Dori wasn't Dori, he'd never have to work another day in his life. He could open his tea shop, like he'd always wanted, and live a leisurely life. And Nori can come home and come back to the Guild and be a weaver again. Nori was never happier than when he could sit at a loom all day.

Ori has made all those things possible. He can be proud of that.

However, as he sits in the bathtub, big enough to hold five Dwarrows the size of his 'Ur marriage-cousin, Bombur, in lovely hot water that smells like expensive lavender oils, he's not sure he's making much of a sacrifice. It isn't as though he was in love with anyone. It isn't as though he's been treated badly. No one has been anything but unfailingly polite to him. And Fíli has been...

He had told Fíli he wasn't inexperienced. That was true. 

But Fíli had been so gentle with him last night, like it was his first time. Like Ori was someone he wanted to be careful with, wanted to cherish. He had not taken without asking, and he had not been selfish. 

It had been very good, actually, Ori thinks with a blush as he laughs to himself. 

Ori's had a handful of affairs since Jom. Nothing serious, nothing that could be seen as breaking a vow, and all safely outside of Erebor, on his travels with Nori. And some had been very good. 

All he had thought of last night was Fíli though. 

He thinks it's a good thing, that they're well-suited towards one another like this. 

With Nori gone, and only in his own head, he can admit he thinks they might be well-suited to one another in the other ways too. 

Only in his own head, of course.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts? Criticisms?


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N We meet Frerin.

“Just don't be pushy,” Fíli reminds Kíli, not looking up from his right falchion. He's finishing sharpening it, not yet happy with the tip of the blade. “I know you riled him up yesterday, but you saw him after he'd cooled off...and you stopped _touching_ things.” Fíli gives his brother a look and gets a careless shrug and sneer back. “I mean it, he's not like us. He's shy. He needs to warm up to you.”

“From what I hear, he's warmed up to you plenty,” Gimli says, snickering to himself. 

Fíli punches him in the head, knocking him clean off the bench. His little cousin rolls arse over teakettle, landing flat on his back. Kíli laughs so hard no sound comes out, and Fíli is content to let him until he realizes just how Gimli knows anything about it. So he grabs his brother by the braids closest to Fíli and yanks him down hard enough he yelps. 

“I'll tell your mum,” Gimli wheezes.

“I could ensure you're on a scouting mission when your Elf-friend comes,” Fíli replies coldly. 

“Your mother frightens me anyway,” Gimli says, sitting up. Despite being the youngest of them, Gimli has the longest beard, already down to the middle of his chest. His impromptu meeting with the floor means it's now covered in sawdust and wood shavings. “Will your mother be attending this little get-together tonight?” 

Fíli shakes his head. “No, Mum wants a family dinner the day after tomorrow. Including Ori's family.” 

Gimli's expression sobers as he brushes off his beard. “Frerin and Ori's brother will be in the same room?” 

“I doubt it. Nori supposedly has yet to return to Erebor, despite the wedding. Even if he has, I doubt even Mother wants the two of them in the same room, not just yet.” Fíli knows his mother too well to think she would ever put her pick to a less than stable rock. She'll test it out first, see if Frerin can handle Dori and Ori and whatever hatred they might harbour towards him. 

“Seems like a bad plan to me, no matter how it's done,” Kíli says, prodding Fíli's falchion. “There's too much bad blood between the lot of them. Mother certainly isn't above any of it, no matter how she behaves.” He's not wrong. Their mother has not been an innocent party in this, but at least in her case, Fíli knows it was for more noble reasons. 

They might not be good reasons, but they're at least mostly unselfish. 

“Mother can keep her temper though,” Fíli says. “Hopefully Ori's eldest brother can as well.”

“When did you become such an optimist?” Gimli huffs, hefting his axe at last. “Come on then, your little kitchen knife is sharp enough, cousin.” 

“Aye, sharp enough to cut off those braids of yours,” Fíli says, standing and using his left falchion to indicate the two plaits that run down Gimli's back. “I've seen children with better patterns, little cousin. Did your Elf-friend teach you those?” 

Gimli comes at him, swinging low, so Fíli jumps, and rolls to the side, mindful of his own blades as he does so. Like Fíli, Gimli is an expert hand-to-hand fighter, and is more than a match for him. They're not fighting in earnest though, if Fíli is honest. This is much-needed play, and Kíli cheers indiscriminately for whoever gets a good hit in on the sidelines. 

Gimli nearly gets a very good hit in when Fíli is momentarily distracted by a newcomer to the training field. It's only years of instincts that keep him from getting hit. He deflects Gimli's axe with barely a glance, both swords crossed to force it away. 

The moment Gimli finds his feet again and looks to where Fíli is facing, he stops attacking, frowning deeply.

There's only two blonds amongst the living royal family. Fíli, and his second uncle, Frerin. It's not a trait he's proud to share, and the only time he really ever notices his hair colour is when he's forced to look at the other golden-haired prince. 

His uncle seems tired today, more so than usual. The circles under his eyes are a bit more pronounced, the lines around his mouth deeper. And unlike Fíli, there's grey shot through Frerin's hair, like their first uncle's and their mother's. 

“What's he doing here?” Gimli asks, swinging his axe idly. 

Frerin is not allowed to handle a weapon anymore. It's not an official law, but it's Thorin's word, and that's as good as, at least for Fíli. He doesn't have one in hand, nor does he look like he's intending to reach for one, but he is eyeing Kíli's bow with longing. For some reason, the sight of him annoys Fíli more than it usually does.

He can pretend it has nothing to do with the fact he can still feel Ori's fingers digging into his back and certainly not because he's found a twisted kind of gratitude for Frerin's madness. Fíli is not Frerin, nor will he ever be. That split second last night, when Ori was resting against his chest and Fíli had pictured smashing the damn pearls with a hammer, not out of an urge to keep Ori, but out of pure jealousy, that's a part of himself he can control. 

He's genuinely thankful for that.

His second uncle is speaking to Kíli, but Fíli can't hear it, not until he approaches. He's asking Kíli about the bow in his hands, Gimli's new bow. It's only the prototype of Gimli's new design, but it looks as though this will be the final design for the Elves to see. Fíli supposes it's lucky that Elrond's missive came now, and saved Thranduil an extra trip. 

“ -A compound bow,” Kíli says, apparently answering Frerin's question. “Don't understand why he calls it that. He's explained, but I always stop listening after the first five minutes or so.” His little brother's usual charm is severely lacking, his self-deprecating joke falling flat, though Frerin does offer a smile in response. 

“Something I can help you with, Frerin?” Fíli asks. 

As they've gotten older, the both of them have stopped addressing Frerin as _uncle_. Fíli for his distaste over what Frerin's madness drove their family to, Kíli out of loyalty to Fíli. Frerin doesn't seem very offended, but then, he never seems much of anything these days. His second uncle is younger than Thorin, but one wouldn't know by looking at the pair of them. His second uncle is usually wan on his good days, and looking more and more like an old man on his bad days. 

“Fíli,” Frerin says, nodding. “Gimli.” 

Gimli gives him a polite nod, but stays beside Fíli. Like Glóin's unflinching loyalty to Thorin, Gimli is true to his bones to Fíli. He'll wait for Fíli's lead on this little confrontation, so soon after Fíli's wedding, and truthfully, Gimli's always been more astute than Kíli. He knows more than Fíli would like him to on the subject of Ori, Fíli is willing to wager. 

“You're not supposed to be here,” Fíli reminds him. “Not without a guard.” 

“And I have one,” Frerin says, hitching his chin over his shoulder. Behind him at a respectful distance is a Dwarf Fíli doesn't know, his hair in two short tails over his shoulders with a short beard, like a miner might wear, wearing a knitted hat that probably has the rest of his hair beneath it. He has an axe on his back, shiny, new and plain, and a knife on his thigh. More importantly, he's watching Frerin with all the focus of someone who knows exactly why he's been assigned to the fallen prince. “Thorin does allow me to observe, every now and then, when I feel up to it.” 

“I am not Thorin,” Fíli says, but manages to keep his tone light. 

Frerin smiles, or at least the corners of his mouth turn up. “So you are not. Forgive me, sister-son. Only it's been awhile since I've been able to watch you fight, and I found I missed it.” Being called _sister-son_ by Frerin rankles Fíli, but he pushes it down. “You look more like your father than we thought you would, when you were young. It's startling sometimes.” 

The mention of Hemli is almost too much, when Fíli thought that wound long-healed. Still though, he holds, and he can take pride in it, because that trait is his father's, more than his looks will ever be. 

“Then observe on the deck, like all the others,” Fíli says, but Kíli shakes his head quickly behind Frerin. Confused, Fíli glances up to the observation deck, and to his surprise sees Ori up there, looking down at all of them. 

Frerin cannot be near Ori. 

But Frerin sees where Fíli's gaze falls, and looks up as well. When he sees Ori, something sparks through Frerin's face, something Fíli doesn't like. His right hand starts to raise before he quite knows what he's doing, his grip shifting on the hilt, and he just barely manages to stop himself, keep the blade at his side where it belongs. 

“You're not allowed to look at him,” Fíli says. 

Frerin smiles. “Did Thorin or your mother order that?”

“Neither,” Fíli answers. 

Now his second uncle frowns, and his face regains its age. “Do you think my madness extends to him as well? That I'll be a danger to your young husband?” When Fíli doesn't answer, Frerin frown deepens, until he looks very old indeed. “Fíli, I am still your uncle. I still love you. I would never hurt what you cherish.” 

“So you do not love your own brother and sister?” It's Kíli who asks, not Fíli. He's watching their second uncle too, his hands on the compound bow in a deceptively casual way. He's ready to draw if need be. 

Frerin seems pained as he turns to Kíli. “Sister-son -”

“You broke our mother's arm in your madness,” Kíli says. “You do not deserve to call her sister, nor do you deserve to call us sister-son.” It's nothing new. Kíli has said it before in a temper, and Fíli has never contradicted it. He doesn't now. 

For his part, their second uncle seems genuinely regretful over what happened. Kíli might not be able to find any promise in it, but Fíli does. It reminds him that his second uncle has overcome the madness, and though it's left him broken, he is sane. Perhaps not trustworthy, but no longer dangerous.

With Ori on the observation deck though, it's no longer enough. He doesn't trust Frerin, especially not around Ori. He doesn't know what Nori looks like in person, doesn't know if Ori resembles in some small way that could trigger the weakness in Frerin's mind, flare up his old obsession. He doesn't even know if that's possible. 

It might be though, and Fíli won't take that risk. 

“You would hold an event you do not even remember against me?” Frerin asks Kíli. “Careful, sister-son. The weakness runs in our line, and it will not die with me. Don't be so quick to throw stones.” Their second uncle isn't wrong, but that doesn't mean Fíli cares much. 

“Either way, you will keep your distance from Ori,” Fíli orders, and knows Frerin does not mistake his tone for anything less.

Frerin nods in a grim sort of way. “Of course, Fíli.” Then he smiles, and again, Fíli is reminded that he somewhat resembles the other Dwarf. He looks more like his father, a blessing, but in the same way he shares features with his first uncle, he does with his second. All of them have the same smile. Fíli has studied his own face in the mirror enough times to be sure. He wonders how Thorin bears it. 

He wonders if that's what Ori sees in his face. 

“Or rather, I would, had your mother's order not come first,” Frerin says, and instead of sounding like a taunt, it sounds like a complaint. Fíli's not sure what to make of it, so he says nothing in reply, and Frerin keeps speaking. “She wants me there.” 

Fíli swears internally, upset with his mother and every other adult in his and Ori's life. He wishes things were fair, wishes they were normal. Wishes he'd met Ori in a different way, charmed Ori into falling in love with him, loved Ori in return before proposing marriage. Wishes it hadn't taken two months before his own husband trusted him enough to lie with him. 

He wishes he was not he is, some days. Wishes he was not of Durin's line, was not the Crown Prince Fíli, Fíli Twoswords of the War of Three and the Battle of the Lake, the Golden Prince of the Lonely Mountain. Thorin's named heir, the one he trusted to lead Erebor one day, when he would rest with the stones. Not Thorin's child, but his sister-child. His _chosen_ heir. The honour weighs on Fíli more than all of Erebor some days. 

Fíli sometimes wishes he could love his second uncle like he loves his first uncle. 

He wishes for many things he will never get. 

“So be it,” Fíli says, not stupid enough to contradict his mother's orders. He might be the heir, but she's his mother. “Only because my mother, Princess of Erebor and the right hand of the King says so. You are never to be alone with him though, nor are you to speak to him without permission.”

Fíli wishes for many things.

“Of course,” Frerin agrees, more readily to the order than another Dwarf might. Fíli might have a plethora of titles, but he's still very young, and another noble might have scoffed. “As you wish, my sister-son.” 

It might just be Fíli's imagination, but his second uncle seems to cast his eyes up at the observation deck as he turns to leave, his guard giving Fíli and Kíli both small, respectful nods before he follows Frerin out. The axe is definitely new, Fíli observes. There are no designs, no tales of family or battles worked into the blade or the handle. The wealth needed to hold an axe like a weapon is as new as the axe, Fíli thinks. 

“Well, that went well,” Kíli says, as soon as Frerin is out of earshot. 

“No one was outright threatened, at least,” Gimli adds, shrugging. “Improvement, if you ask me, considering the last time you saw your uncle, you threatened to have his beard cut off. Again.” 

“I did not,” Fíli argues. 

“You did,” Kíli says, and unfortunately, it seems as though he's telling the truth, not trying to wind Fíli up. “After the betrothal ceremony, after we were drunk. I remember.” 

“You spent half the night throwing up your stomach,” Fíli says in reply. 

“And you spent half the night talking about how pretty your intended was and how much you hated Frerin,” Gimli replies, coming to Kíli's defense. Gimli, as their cousin, has always been a good friend to the pair of them. He's indiscriminate in their quarrels, choosing whoever is right without prejudice. 

One day, Gimli will hold a higher place in the Court of Erebor than either Glóin or Óin, solely for that. Thorin and Dís have taught Fíli how to value the opinion of someone who has no qualms with telling the truth. Gimli might sometimes be rude and insulting, but Fíli's little cousin always tells the truth. Even when it doesn't suit him.

Still, Gimli is only his little cousin now, and sometimes his candour irritates Fíli. Fíli is not yet king, and he is not yet required to be reasonable.

“And what were you doing for half the night Gimli?” he asks, because Thranduil had sent his third and fourth sons to see the betrothal, and give their father's regards. 

His little cousin gives him a long look that tells Fíli more than he ever wanted to know about Gimli and his shield-brother.

“Holding your hair back, the both of you,” Gimli answers at last, and it's not a lie, but it's not the whole truth. 

Kíli laughs, and leaves the pair of them eventually to go practice targets. 

Alone, Fíli says, “I was only teasing, you know.” Because he was, and he doesn't want Gimli to think...he doesn't know what it is exactly he doesn't want Gimli to think. Only Gimli is never happier than when the Elf prince is amongst them, and he saved Gimli's life, and he is Gimli's shield-brother...and...Fíli thinks his head might be a little too muddled to be making good decisions right now. 

But to his surprise, Gimli admits the truth. “We cannot be together. I understand that. But he has come to my bed, every night he's been here. And I have allowed him.” His cousin's hands tremble on his axe, before he plants it firmly in the ground. “I will end it before it becomes a liability to you, Fíli.” 

None of this puts Fíli any more at ease. “Does he know that?” 

“He...” Gimli swallows heavily. “Elves are different from us. He professes love, but he will outlive two generations after us. He will find another.” It sounds like it pains Gimli to say the words aloud, but still, he says them, to Fíli, and Fíli values the confidence. “He will forget me, in time. I would like his memories of me to be good though, while they last. So no, I have told him nothing.” 

Fíli turns to him, wondering what he should say. He can't reconcile the idea of a Dwarf and an Elf finding anything that might resemble love between them with his own knowledge of their history. Yet, he cannot deny that Gimli and Legolas seem to have overcome that history. Their friendship is strange to him, and he doesn't much like it, nor does he like the idea of more between the pair. But it's not his friendship, and he wasn't there when their connection formed. He doesn't know just what fires forged their bond. 

But he knows it will do Gimli no good to let it stand. Mirkwood might be their ally, but some things will not be tolerated. 

“The minute anyone starts to suspect, and I mean really _suspect_ -”

“I know,” Gimli says. “I know. I'll marry whoever is best-suited later but...only let me...”

Fíli bites his lip, unsure of how to ask what he should ask. When he looks at Gimli though, he decides it's best not to. His cousin has already confided more in him than he has in anyone but the Elf since the war, and Fíli knows not to push too hard. 

“I think you and Ori will get along,” Fíli says, changing the subject to something they're both more comfortable with. It says a lot that Fíli would rather talk about Ori than Legolas. “You and him can bore Kíli and me to death all you like, how's that sound?” 

“Like you have no idea how to behave around your husband now that you've had him,” Gimli replies, running a cloth over the blade of his axe until it starts to shine again. “And that you want a barrier.” 

“You're too clever to be related to Kíli and me,” Fíli says dryly. 

“My mother is the Librarian,” Gimli reminds him, chuckling. “Though my uncle did drop me on my head when I was just born, so who knows what could have been? Perhaps I would have been the greatest architect we would have ever had.” 

The idea of Gimli surrounded by books all day or trapped at a desk is laughable, and Fíli does snort at it. Gimli loves books almost as much Ori, if Fíli had to bet, but he loves his axe too, and his work. Confined all day in such a way would drive his little cousin mad. 

“I'm rather sure Kíli was dropped on his head at some point,” Fíli drawls, and earns an elbow to the ribs. 

“Better hope not,” Gimli says. “Since he'll be in charge of the guilds once you're king.”

“Don't remind me.”

♦

He spends his midday with Gimli and Kíli, doing more work on the bow and listening to them gossip about Dwalin. Gimli claims he's been odd, Kíli refutes that Dwalin has been a little off for as long as they've known him. He's not wrong, but Gimli's not either. It's nothing to be worried over, Fíli is sure of that, but it is interesting enough to hold their attention.

After midday, he joins his uncle in his chambers. Thorin has a letter open on the desk and a pipe lit in his hand by the time Fíli comes in, which doesn't bode well. 

“Elrond?” he asks, hitching his chin at the letter. 

“Aye,” Thorin answers, biting the end of his pipe. “An odd letter, I must admit. Thranduil is upset, but I've written to tell him he's not interested in what Elrond is hoping to trade with us.” His uncle actually chuckles. “Elrond wishes to trade _knowledge_ with us.” 

Fíli frowns, and takes one of the chairs across from the great desk. “What do you mean? What knowledge could Elves want from us? And why would they think we would share it?” The Elves know their ways well enough to know how closely they guard their secrets. 

“It's nothing I wouldn't give freely,” Thorin says, with a shrug. “Nothing I didn't think they already knew. I had assumed Thranduil was sharing information freely with his fellows, but it appears not, and so Elrond seeks out our version of events.” 

“What events?” Fíli can't fathom what they could want. 

“The War of Three,” he says, raising an eyebrow. “When word reached Elrond that Thranduil's people had been involved, he apparently wanted the records for history. Thranduil has ignored all queries though, and now he writes me to tell me he would be very disappointed if I were to confide in the Lord Elrond.” He takes a deep inhale, and it makes Fíli wish for his own. “Lord Elrond already tells me that his emissary is on the road to here though, so I do not know what Thranduil expects me to do. I cannot refuse hospitality to a potential ally and buyer either. Not when they wish for so little.” 

“Why would he send the emissary without first asking? That seems odd,” Fíli says, not adding the fact that it was rude. Still, what else should he expect of Elves? Thranduil is the same, pushy and confident that he would be conceded to in all things. Thorin and Thranduil had almost come to blows more than once in Fíli's experience, but their tempers both usually cooled fast enough that war was never on the horizon.

Besides, Fíli gets the impression that Thranduil actually liked Thorin, in his own lofty Elf way. He has seen how the Elf King treats his enemies. There is no careless arrogance or biting sarcasm; no, then the Elf King could have been carved from ice. Fíli remembers seeing him like that during the war, seeing him raise his sword and deliver sentencing on their enemies. 

It had not been only Dwarrows in the war. At first, they had thought it was only the traitorous factions, and then the Orcs had appeared. That would have been bad enough. They had not yet thought to call on Thranduil, for why should they? It had been a Dwarf matter.

Then they had been struck from the west, and it was no longer a Dwarf matter. 

It turned out, the Line of Durin was not the only line being doubted. 

When all was said and done, Thranduil and his sons lived, and so did their own family. The war had been won, and their lines had proven true. 

At least that's what the books say now. 

“What do you think he's hiding from Elrond?” Fíli asks. 

“I do not know,” Thorin answers, taking another inhale and exhaling a cloud of blue smoke. “But I intend to find out, and why. Thranduil has been our ally for as long as my own grandfather wore the Raven Crown. He is what he is, but he has never been a liar, nor quite the impetuous child he would like us to believe he is. If he is not telling Lord Elrond the whole truth, he has a reason.” 

Thranduil has always been odd when it comes to Lord Elrond and the Lady Galadriel, but Fíli has never seen him be quite this odd. He'd assumed it was some kind of rivalry, but he's never seen his uncle withhold such vital information from Dáin or any other lords. 

Still, there's nothing either of them can do about it for now, not without more information. Besides, the matters of the Elves are not their concern. If it comes down to brass tacks, his uncle will deny Elrond his request and keep their ties with Mirkwood over a new friendship with strange Elves. 

“Are Lord Elrond and Thranduil related?” Fíli asks, remembering Ori's question. He had forgotten it in the chaos of the morning council, what with Bifur and Glóin arguing loudly over the price of copper until finally, Glóin had left the table in a temper, Bifur swearing profusely, his accent stronger than it usually was. Bifur and his family had come from the Blue Mountains, the small settlement of Ered Luin, when Fíli was very young, and they still spoke in a funny sometimes, and their mine signs were not like the ones Fíli had learned. 

Thorin gives him an odd look. “No, Fíli. Not as far as I know. Perhaps distantly, but not in any meaningful way. Why do you ask?”

“Ori was curious, and I wasn't sure,” Fíli says, biting the cuticle of one of his nails, a bad habit he'd never managed to break. “He likes Elves, I think. They make for good subjects.” 

Thorin is watching him again, smiling a little. “You and Ori are getting along then? You were late this morning, and I admit, I was optimistic enough to allow Kíli's obnoxious hinting at breakfast to give me hope.” The way his uncle smirks tells Fíli exactly what those obnoxious hints were, and he groans, sliding down in his seat. “Ah, so for once your brother manage to actually find something out before everyone else in Erebor.” 

“He will be insufferable,” Fíli says, his uncle laughing.

“Kíli has been insufferable since he learned how to talk,” Thorin says good-naturedly. “Frerin and Dís were the same way. It's apparently quite fun to be a prince or princess of Erebor when you know you will never have to wear the crown.” 

The mention of Frerin sobers Fíli. “Frerin was in the training yard today. Watching Gimli and me fight.” 

“He was with his guard?” Thorin asks.

“Yes,” Fíli says, rolling his shoulders as he sits up a bit straighter. “But I saw something in his eyes I did not like when he looked at Ori.” 

His first uncle sighs, and exhales smoke into the room. “The madness passed from Frerin, Fíli, but it weakened him like a strong fever. He will forever be a danger to Nori, and Ori looks a bit like he did at that age. Not enough I think you need to be truly worried, I believe. Frerin's fire has banked, in any case. He cannot muster the passion again. I fear it would kill him if it did.” He taps the pipe against the ashtray. “As it killed our father.” 

It's not something they speak of, Fíli's grandfather's death. He had not died gloriously in battle, but instead, wasting away from his madness, unable to take food or drink any more, no longer desiring anything but his gold. 

It frightens Fíli to know that one of his uncles had succumbed too. Frerin had not fixated on gold though, and instead, on a person. A young weaver, prettier than any other Dwarf in Erebor except perhaps his elder brother, according to many. No one had recognized it for what is was until it was too late, and the contracts had been signed between their families. Only then had Thorin an Dís seen that Nori did not love Frerin, that their brother had gone mad. 

When Nori had run, Fíli has no doubt that Thorin had ordered only the barest search before calling it a loss. 

Not long after, Fíli's grandfather had begun to spend too much time in the treasury. 

He worries over what Frerin said. Could he too grow fixated? On Ori? 

“Uncle...”

“You are your father's son, Fíli, and I am grateful for that. You and Kíli both have his strength, his will. I am not promising you will not feel the pull of the things you love, the people you love, but you will have the power to control yourself.” Thorin has always known what troubles Fíli, even when he himself cannot express it. Thorin says he is like Hemli, but Fíli knows he is like Thorin too. 

He can be proud of that. 

“You should go get ready for dinner,” Thorin says. “I need to speak with Dwalin on some things, and I'm sure you're eager for sweeter company.” 

“Kíli and Gimli will be joining us tonight,” Fíli says, and gets a full laugh from his uncle. 

“Perhaps you would rather stay?” he teases, and gets waved off. 

Fíli meets Dwalin in the hall, and tells him Thorin is alone and waiting. “Aye, I knew it was too much to hope that the Elf had a real problem to speak on,” he rumbles, earning himself a puzzled look from Fíli. 

“And what subject are you so eager to avoid?” he asks, and flinches when it looks like Dwalin might cuff him. 

“Mind your own affairs,” Dwalin growls, so Fíli scarpers, not eager to be on the wrong end of Dwalin's temper. He, Kíli and Gimli spent far too often there as children, and he has no desire to attend dinner with a lump on his head. 

He stops outside the doors to their rooms, and smooths his hair down, going so far as to redo where his hair is gathered in the back in the traditional style of a prince, the clasp between his teeth while he does. There's a polished shield on the wall by their doors, a former weapon of some relative of his, and he uses it as a makeshift mirror to ensure his hair isn't crooked at least. 

He'd washed up a bit and changed after training, so he's at least assured that he's clean and doesn't smell. Hopefully, Kíli remembered too as well. 

Inside, all is quiet in the receiving room. Beyond the doors though, into their living area, he hears someone moving about. He opens the door, and spies Ori stepping back from the fireplace and replacing the poker in the stand. 

Seeing him reminds Fíli of last night and this morning, and he's at once eager and nervous. He wonders if it's all right to greet him with a kiss, or if Ori would rather he ask first. 

“There are servants to do that,” Fíli says, and Ori jumps, turning to look at him with wide eyes. 

“Well, there weren't until two months ago, so forgive me,” Ori replies, gathering his knitted cardigan around himself. This is the one Fíli sees him in most, a greyish-purple made of soft wool that looks older than the rest. It's ill-fitting, even for a cardigan, but it makes Ori look soft and warm. 

Fíli blames it for why he reaches out and and enfolds Ori in his arms, Ori's back against his chest. He smells like lavender, as always, and Fíli inhales deep. 

There's a moment where he thinks he's done something wrong. Ori is stiff and for a second, it seems like he's going to pull away. Before Fíli can release him though, he turns into him, and reaches out to cup Fíli's face, coaxing him down for a kiss. 

Maybe it was only meant to be a greeting, but it's quickly not. Fíli thinks he'll blame that part on the poor impulse control of being young, of this still being new. Ori is winding one of Fíli's braids through his fingers, and that's never been something that's gotten him going, not until now. When Ori nips Fíli's bottom lip, he finally absolves himself of all blame and just decides it's Ori's fault. 

“Oh,” Ori squeaks when Fíli's hand finds bare skin at last. Fíli is so lost in him, he barely notices Ori pushing on his chest until it's a real shove. He's not a warrior, but he does have strength. 

Fíli's confused, wondering what he's supposed to do. Should he have stopped? 

But Ori is smiling up at Fíli through his lashes, taking a step backwards and then turning and disappearing into their bedroom.

It only takes him a second to get past the confusion and follow. As it turns out, it's much more fun to strip Ori himself, and be helped in return before retreating under the safety of the covers. They kiss and kiss until Fíli decides that the jut of Ori's collarbone will look better with a few marks, and judging from the way Ori gasps, he agrees. 

“Stop, stop,” he protests, shoving at Fíli's head, his giggles almost making the words indecipherable. “If you go any higher, they'll show!” He rolls them over, straddling Fíli and twisting the covers up around them. Once he's on top, he smiles down at Fíli, and traces the tattoo on Fíli's left pectoral. Unlike the others, this isn't an important tattoo, just something he'd liked, a simple geometric pattern.

Kissing Ori like this is good too, he decides. 

They have a little time after, before they need to get dressed again, so Fíli asks if Ori wants a bath. The tub is big enough that they would both fit three times over, so it's not uncomfortable. It's a bit startling how pleasant it is, actually, to have someone to oil his tattoos after they get out, and help him get his hair in order.

He offers to do both in turn for Ori, but is rebuffed. He doesn't blame Ori. Mahal knows he'd just ruin Ori's pretty braids. 

By the time Kíli and Gimli show up, they're both very respectable indeed. A little too respectable, as it turns out, because the first thing Kíli does is throw an arm around Ori's shoulders, lean in close, and say, “You know, too much sex in one day will make your beard fall out.” 

Fíli decides to have his brother assassinated. It's the only way. In the meantime, he cuffs him around the ear. 

Fortunately, dinner goes well. They eat without stabbing each other over the rosemary rolls, which has been known to happen, and neither Kíli or Gimli indulge too much in the ale or the wine after, when they're all sitting by the fire. Ori gets a bit red in the face after three glasses, but it makes him curl against Fíli's side on the floor, watching Gimli and him play a card game. 

“Why don't you play, Kíli?” Ori asks, looking over at him. 

“I have a hard time keeping all the rules straight,” Kíli says, shrugging. “Can play simpler games, but not this. Why aren't you?” 

Fíli glances at him, interested in the answer himself. Ori seems to consider it a long time before answering, but Fíli thinks that might be the wine more than anything. “The same as you, I suppose. Dori never liked me to play betting games, because he said I didn't have the skill and he didn't want me to get hurt. My brother Nori though, you should see him play. I've seen him cheat Elves!” 

“You've met Elves on your travels?” Kíli asks, and Fíli feels the loss as Ori sits up so he an speak with Kíli a bit easier. 

“Yes,” he says. “Not like the Mirkwood Elves. Different Elves, from the South. They were all mostly dark-skinned, and they were not as tall as King Thranduil's people. Nori always told me the Wood Elves were taller, but I hadn't realized by how much.” 

Fíli struggles to keep his attention on both things, but sees Gimli is listening too. 

“Did you ever meet any southern Dwarrows?” Gimli asks. "My aunt is from the South, she's a Blacklock. She's shown me her jewellery from there.”

Ori nods, pouring himself another glass. “Yes, the big rings and bars? It's very fashionable there to wear big ones. Nori's friend, Taksha, he wore two right here, as big around as my thumb.” Ori taps the dimples of his face. “And their tattoos were mostly very thick and black. They didn't use much colour, though I did see some with red, and a few with white. They were the only ones who would trade with us though, so I do not know if other ones in the area were the same.” His expression turns sad, and he shrugs. “Not many liked the Elves we were traveling with. They were considered unlucky. I do not know why. They liked us little better. They thought our pale skin meant we were ill, because there aren't as many that far south, and because we had no piercings in our faces, they thought it meant we were unlucky too, or maybe exiled. I wasn't sure. Though, there was one lord, he thought I was very pretty, and he tried to buy me from Nori.”

Kíli and Gimli laugh, but Fíli doesn't. “Was there anywhere you went that you were not desired?” Perhaps Fíli has had too much, because this makes his brother and little cousin laugh. 

“I'm a 'Ri, you know,” Ori says, slowly and deliberately. He's definitely had too much, so Fíli takes away his empty wine glass. And the bottle. The cards lie forgotten on the floor, probably to be picked up by a servant at some point. 

Eventually, the hour grows too late for any of them to justify, and Fíli and Ori take to their bed. 

“Tell me the truth then,” Fíli cajoles, still a little drunk. “How many marriage offers have you had?” 

Ori bites his lip, thinking it appears, then says, “Twelve serious ones. I was not actually involved with most of them. Four offered to buy me, and some were people here that I didn't know at all. Only three were from lovers, and I think only one meant it.” Fíli knows which one he means, and his displeasure must show on his face, because Ori diverts the topic. “Dori gets at least four offers a year. Well, five, but the butcher doesn't count, because he asks any time he's in his cups. And Nori, he's had more offers than any of us, but he's only ever loved Dwalin, Dori says.” 

They both freeze, Fíli staring at Ori as Ori brings a hand up to cover his mouth. 

“I shouldn't have said that,” he says quietly. “Oh, I shouldn't have said that.” 

“So that's who it was,” Fíli says, sitting up on his elbow. “I knew it had to have been someone close to the Crown. Dwalin makes sense.” 

It had been a snatch of conversation Fíli had overheard once, his mother and first uncle speaking about Frerin and Nori. His mother had said, _“We were lucky they didn't charge Frerin with thieving, you know the law -,”_ with his uncle cutting her off and saying, _“He would never hurt this family, never, you know that, and you know as well as I do he is somehow still seeing Nori -”_ , and then they had seen him in the doorway and pointedly shut the heavy door. 

“Are he and Nori going to marry now?” Fíli asks, unsure of what else to say. “Now that Nori can come back?”

Ori shakes his head. “Things are complicated now. It's my fault.”

“How?”

“It just is,” Ori says, and curls against Fíli's side, closing his eyes, clearly done with the conversation.

Fíli gets the feeling something is wrong, something Ori isn't telling him. He's not sure he's allowed to ask, or that he even should. 

So he doesn't. He goes to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Frerin was perhaps disappointing, I suspect. Essentially, I made the madness that seems to run in this family less gold-sickness and more it being dangerous for them to become fixated on something. For Frerin, it's like recovering from a particularly terrible addiction or disease. His mind and body are no longer what they were.
> 
> Dís was supposed to be in this chapter, but she's been moved forward. I wanted her to really have the spotlight on her when she does appear, to see if she lives up to the hype. Also, Dori will be showing his lovely face.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ori goes for a walk.

When the morning comes, Ori wakes with a headache and a dry mouth. Unhappy with himself, he rises reluctantly, leaving Fíli's side, and heads into the bathroom. Once his face is washed and he's cleaned his teeth, he feels a bit more alert, but not much. His head has the cotton feeling of too much drink, and it makes him groan and give in to a full wash under the water. 

Fíli is still asleep by the time Ori emerges, and even after he's fully dressed. He considers waking him, but only for a moment, and then he slips out of their rooms. 

He knows he should take his breakfast down in the dining room, but he has yet to find it empty, no matter what time. It's usually only the king and the princess, sometimes Kíli if Ori rises a bit later than usual, but there's been a few times he's spotted someone who could only be Frerin. Ori is not brave enough to eat with him, too afraid of the monster from Nori and Dori's tales. 

He'd always thought Frerin and Fíli would look alike, for some odd reason, maybe because they were both golden-haired. They don't though, not really. Ori guesses that Fíli looks like his father, not that he'll ever know for sure.

The palace is still quiet, only servants scurrying about to get everything ready for the day. Ori tries to stay out of their way as they go about their chores, and mostly succeeds. They're used to the sight of him so early now, and they mostly ignore him. 

Mostly. 

“You're not to leave the palace without escort,” the guard says, blocking the exit. “Orders of her highness, Princess Dís.” 

“I only want to see my brother,” Ori replies, twisting his hands in his sleeves. “I'll be back by midday, I promise.” 

“You are not to leave the palace without escort,” the guard repeats, not moving. “By the order of her highness, Princess Dís.” He gives Ori a long look down his nose. “Return to the prince's bed, little 'Ri. That's where you belong, after all.” 

Ori face burns with humiliation, and without managing another word, he scurries away, only to walk right into someone head and shoulders above him, and twice his width besides. He's afraid for only the second it takes to look up and recognize his marriage-brother in all but law, Dwalin. 

Dwalin smiles down at him kindly, his brow a bit puzzled. “I would think you would enjoy the opportunity to laze about, like your husband does,” he says, clapping Ori on the shoulder gently. “Should have known your stubborn ways would stick. You're a 'Ri, after all.” 

“I am,” Ori agrees pleasantly. He's hardly been able to see Dwalin at all since the wedding, the other far too busy with his duties to really worry much over Ori. And from what Nori said, Dwalin had trusted Fíli to not be a lout. He should, Ori supposes, since he's known Fíli from birth. He only wishes Dori had allowed Dwalin around the house more, so that he could have assured Ori of those things before. 

Dwalin looks at the guard, now watching them with interest Ori would bet, and barks, “Patrol the hall.” 

The guard obeys, stalking off down the hall as best he can in a proper guard's walk. 

“Gossips, the whole lot of them,” Dwalin says, shaking his head. “Never trust a guard with a secret, Ori. They're worse than the maids, and I guarantee the maids know more than half the court.” 

Ori could believe that. He looks up at Dwalin, unsure if it's safe to ask what he wants to know. “Has um...has our friend come to see you?” he hazards, hoping it's vague enough, but Dwalin just snorts and shakes his head. 

“No, Nori is still in a strop over what I said to him. He does not answer my missives, nor will he see me. Even Dori apologised for his antics, and that should tell you how bad they really are.” It does, and Dwalin using Nori's name freely tells him much too. Fíli has kept his promise to Ori, and it pleases him more than he can say. 

“I wish he wouldn't behave like that towards you,” Ori says, sighing as he crosses his arms over his chest. “He knows it's not fair, and he does it anyway.”

Dwalin laughs and throws an arm around Ori in a half-embrace. “Peace, little one. If Nori was not who he was, I would not love him the way I do. He is a mad creature, but I've never disliked his particular brand of madness.” He squeezes Ori to him reassuringly. “He will eventually forgive me, as he always does. And then he and I shall be married, as we should have been so many years past.” 

Ori smiles against Dwalin's side, pleased. “I'm glad things are working out for you both.”

Dwalin gives him a look that could mean a few things, then lets him go. “And what about you? You've seemed all right, and his highness has been happy.” 

“I'm fine,” Ori replies, not untruthfully. “Well, I am. I wanted to go see Dori today, but the guard said that the princess says I may not without escort. And you know I cannot go into the old neighbourhood with a _guard_. What would people say? Dori would never hear the end of it and it would drive Nori mad -” 

The big Dwarf grins, and whistles loud and sharp, so that the guard he dismissed comes running back. “You,” he barks, when the guard is within hearing distance. “Go to his majesty, tell him I'll be back later.” That's clearly the end of the order, and the guard scurries off again back down the hall, presumably to wherever Thorin is. Once he's gone, Dwalin grabs at Ori's scarf and pulls it up over his head. “Do yourself up proper and I'll take you down myself. No one will say anything about your law-brother taking you down, now will they?” 

Grateful, with a smile that hurts his face, Ori adjusts his scarf so that it covers his head fully and stays in place, then follows Dwalin out the big door. They still have to go a ways to get completely out of the palace and its courtyards, but once they're out the gates with barely a second glance, Ori laughs. He hasn't been out since the wedding, too frightened and nervous, but now that he is, he feels better than he has since the weeks leading up to the ceremony. 

Once they reach the market, he feels like himself again. The hustle and bustle of the crowd going about their shopping is familiar, people negotiating prices for meats and breads and the more durable vegetables like potatoes and carrots, things Ori is used to. Not like at the palace, where there were all sorts of things Ori's only ever seen in a hothouse or a book. He's certainly never been able to eat most of it. 

A woman with two buckets of water balanced on a carrying pole across her shoulders grazes against him, and he sees the queue around the well. It hadn't been that long ago that he would have been in that queue, getting the water for breakfast. 

He won't say he's sorry to live in a great house with pipes and water. Hot water. He rather likes having hot water whenever he wants it. 

Staying close to Dwalin is easy enough in the crowd, the big Dwarf clearing a path easily, especially when the people down in this part of the city get a look at the two axes on his back. To be allowed to carry them in public in such a way says a lot about Dwalin's position, and even now, after two months in the palace, to Ori they still say _nob_ and _stay away_.

It's only Dwalin though, his friend and his family's protector. It's been Dwalin that's kept the worst of it all away from their home, kept them afloat as much as he could without showing his hand. It had been dangerous for anyone to know that Dwalin was intimately connected to their house, because then someone might have known how Dwalin helped Nori escape. Despite Dwalin's position and the circumstances, it had been illegal, and he could have been in trouble. 

They turn on to Ori's old street, and he outpaces Dwalin now, hurrying down to their door, painted the rich violet Dori so loved and adorned with dried lavender below their family name marking. 

He stops at it, excited and afraid, only for Dwalin to step in front of him and pound on the door. 

It opens on a chain to show Nori, scowling up at Dwalin. “No,” he says firmly and starts to shut it again, but Dwalin sighs and holds it open with one big palm. “Dwalin, I said -!”

“Nori!” Ori cries, eager to see his brother with his hair the right colour again, and without the worry of the palace. 

Nori all but throws the door open and grabs Ori, pulling him close. “Oi, Dori!” Nori calls. “We have a visitor!” 

“At this hour?” 

The sight of Dori after two months hurts Ori's stomach. He's missed his eldest brother so much, and judging by the look on Dori's face, he's missed Ori too. Nori at least knows to get out of the way so that Dori might have his turn too, can hold Ori close like he did when Ori was just a child. “Oh, my sweetling,” he says into Ori's hair, the scarf having fallen down in Nori's enthusiasm. “My little one, you're a sight for sore eyes.” 

Dori's hair indeed has the purple tint that Ori thought it might by now, and he does look tired, shadows under his eyes. He cups Ori's face and looks at him for a long moment, as though he's looking for changes to Ori's face as well. If he sees any that worry him, he doesn't say. Instead, he says, “You don't look tormented, so I suppose he's really not as bad as we feared.”

“No,” Ori says, shaking his head. “No, he is not terrible at all. He's very kind, actually. Nori told you?” 

“I said nothing about his highness,” Nori says, as civilly as Ori can expect him to. “Dori has not been home until now. The guild is busy.” There's a longing there that hurts Ori, but he's a little relieved at the way Nori allows Dwalin close. He's not truly angry then, for which Ori is glad.

“Hello, my love,” Dwalin rumbles, and Ori blushes at it. Nori and Dwalin have always made him feel embarrassed. Whenever they weren't in Erebor, and Dwalin caught up with them to stay a bit, he and Nori were very open with their affection. 

“You're not forgiven yet,” Nori replies, but it's not as sharp as Nori can be when he really feels like it.

Ori turns from them and follows Dori as his eldest brother pulls him into the sitting room. To Ori's surprise, most of it is in crates or under dust cloths. “Are we moving?” Ori asks, slipping. 

“Yes,” Dori answers, leading him to the good red couch to sit. “I'm afraid so, little gem. With the marriage payment made and Nori home and earning again, and you gone, there's little reason for me to stay in this house. We're letting a house closer to the Weaver's Guild instead.” He looks down at his knees, as though he's ashamed. “It's a very nice house.” 

It only takes Ori a moment to understand, and once he does, he has to reach out and take his elder brother's hand. “Dori, I want you to use the money. That was why we went through with this, remember? For Nori, for you...” 

“I should have married Frerin,” Dori says, holding Ori's hand in both of his. 

Ori shakes his head, angry all over again. “No, Dori, that wasn't right. The old king had no right -”

“He was the king, my love, he had every right,” his eldest brother reminds him, the corners of his mouth turning up.

“No, he didn't. You know he didn't.” Dori had been in _mourning_ , Ori's law-sister still fresh in their minds, for hadn't she just been there the day before? Hadn't she been tucking Ori into bed, kissing him on his brow and calling him her little gem? Hadn't she been just there in the kitchen, showing Ori how to cook, how to make tea? To ask them all to just fill her place, like she had been replaceable, it had been cruel. 

As though their family had not been cruel enough to the 'Ri line, the old king had to hurt them more. Thinking of that hard truth makes Ori feel all the worse for what he's done, for what he feels for Fíli. His husband is the old king's grandson, after all. His husband is the sister-son of the one who ruined their lives. 

And what does Ori do? He goes to that Dwarf, willingly goes to his bed.

“I don't hate Fíli,” he confesses quietly. “Dori, I know...I know who he is. Who you think he is.” The way Dori is looking at him makes him more ashamed and he looks away. “But he's not...you don't have to be worried anymore, you don't, because he and I, I think we're actually rather well-suited for one another and...Dori?” His elder brother is not looking at him all now, and something in Ori squeezes so tight it hurts. “Dori please, I did not mean to like him, but he's not like Frerin, -”

“I trust he has been quite charming then?” Dori asks, still not looking at Ori. “Frerin was charming too. He had even Mother fooled, and that was not an easy task, believe you me. What has his highness told you? That you are pretty? You know you are pretty, but it is always nice to hear it from another. Has he claimed to be a great reader? Or admired your drawings?”

“He is a reader, but he does not claim to be a great one,” Ori argues, desperate to defend Fíli without knowing why. “He does not pretend to be anything to me. And he does admire my drawings, but not falsely. He does not act like he understands my art, only praises the skill. And he does not show his temper often, and even when he does, it is not like -” Dori stands and walks to the window, leaving Ori sitting alone on the couch. “Dori, I am not an idiot, he is not playing a part, he is not Frerin, he is -”

“He is not to be trusted.” 

“Dori,” Ori tries, but when Dori looks at him over his shoulder, Ori quiets respectfully. 

“Have you already forgotten your life before the palace?” Dori asks, but it is not the sort of question that requires a response. “You grew up without your elder brother because of those people. We were poor, because of those people. We suffered, more than you know. Do you have any idea what it was like for Nori and me to watch you grow up and know we had condemned you to a fate we ourselves were too scared to face? Knowing you would never be allowed to marry someone you loved, that you would have to marry one of them to save us, to save Nori?”

Ori bites his lip, then suggests, “But what if I loved Fíli, one day? Princess Dís' marriage was arranged and -”

“It is not the same and you know it!” Dori all but shouts. Dori would never actually shout of course. “He's is Frerin's sister-son -”

“And he is Thorin's as well!” Ori really does shout, and he's so surprised at his daring, his mouth rambles on without interference from his brain. “He is the princess' son, and the chosen heir! He is not what you told me he was, he is not, and he has been my friend when he didn't have to be, and he is hard-working and kind and he laughs so much and he is like Jori said -”

“Jori?!” Dori whirls, all fury now. “Have you been listening to Jori's tales again?”

“Jori was not a liar!” Ori argues. “He wasn't! Fíli is like he said he was -!”

“If Fíli was half as honourable as Jori made him out to be, he would have dissolved the marriage contract, Ori,” Dori points out.

“He didn't have a choice either!”

“He is Thorin's chosen heir, the Crown Prince of Erebor, Fíli the Golden Prince, hero of the wars, and you are telling me he could not dissolve a marriage contract?” Dori demands. “Ori, you are either being frighteningly naïve, or you have been hiding your stupidity very well all these years. Little brother, if Fíli did not want to marry you, he did not have to.”

It makes sense. Ori wishes it didn't, because it ruins everything. 

When he doesn't argue with Dori any further, Dori seems to take it as implicit agreement. “You see, Ori? Do you see why Nori and I have been so worried? That family...you cannot trust any of them. Especially not your dear husband.” 

Ori nods, like Dori expects him to. “Yes, Dori.” 

His eldest brother seems uncomfortable now, but Ori's too busy feeling sorry for himself to worry over it too much. He has been happy in the palace, content with how easy things had been, even pleased with how he and Fíli seemed to get along. He'd liked Kíli and Gimli too, had thought he might even be friends with Gimli. 

But Dori is right. Ori has had almost everything in his life tainted by Fíli's family, had lost his elder brother to them and even his own future. 

He cannot trust them. 

He wishes that did not make him feel as bad as it does. 

Dori reaches out for him, and starts to speak, saying, “Sweetling -” but Ori cuts him off. 

“Did you receive any invitation from her highness?” he asks, changing the subject as much as he can. “She wants to host a dinner party, apparently, with both of our families.” He does not know how well that will go now that he's been reminded that Dori has said what Nori wouldn't, now that he's been reminded Fíli is not his friend.

There's a sigh from Dori. “Yes. I was not sure if I should accept it or not. It felt like a trap. Worse, I was afraid of seeing them again, of seeing you with them, amongst them. Knowing you would be one of them to that family now, knowing they would have you, my little brother, after I fought so hard to keep Nori from them.” 

“Fíli thinks she is upset with him for not presenting me to her informally already,” Ori explains, repeating what Fíli and Kíli had told him. “He has kept me sequestered from the court and the family until recently. I believe he was being kind, allowing me to acclimate to the palace at my own pace. I think our your law-brother, Bifur had something to do with it.” He suspects so, at least. Bifur had always liked him. 

“Why would Fíli listen to Bifur?” Dori asks, his brow furrowed. 

“Bifur sits on Thorin's council now,” Ori answers, standing again so that he could put distance between himself and Dori. He's uncomfortable now, forcibly reminded of everything he's supposed to hate about Fíli and even Kíli and Gimli. They're never going to be his friends, never going to be anyone he can trust.

His life is starting to look very lonely. 

Dori is not a true mind reader, of course, so he has no idea what is going on in Ori's head right now. Instead, he stays on the subject of Bifur. “Since when has Bifur had a seat at that table? I knew he had become the head of the Miner's, but I had no idea...” 

“I do not know when,” Ori says. “Only that he is. Fíli mentions him. He says he's very level-headed. He gives practical advice.” 

“That sounds like Bifur,” Dori says with a sigh. “I should have known Thorin would see that too.” 

Ori shifts a bit, and looks at his brother over his shoulder. “Do you think Thorin is bad king?” 

“My personal feelings have no bearing on whether or not Thorin is a good king,” Dori says. “Or whether or not Fíli will be a good king.” There's something very sad in his voice, something almost apologetic, and Ori meets his eyes again. “Or a good husband.” 

Ori is not sure what to say, so he says nothing while Dori comes closer and touches his shoulder. 

“I look at him and see Frerin,” Dori says. “I see the pain they caused me, and more importantly, what they did to Nori. I do think Fíli could have dissolved the agreement if he really wanted to. And I am not inclined to be kind to him because of that. I think he saw a pretty 'Ri promised to him, and decided that was enough. I do not think he ever saw you as a person.” He reaches up to touch Ori's braids, pushing them back behind his ear. “You seem to like him though. So that must mean something. Do you wish me to attend this dinner?”

Ori nods vehemently, enough his braids hit his ears. “Please Dori, don't leave me alone with them. I've missed you and Nori so much. I've missed having someone to talk to, really.” More than that, he's not sure he's capable of facing the princess alone. He doesn't want to. 

“Then I will,” Dori agrees, fixing the braids in Ori's hair, as he's wont to do. It's reassuring, exactly what Ori wants him to do. “And I'm sure Nori will too, if he thinks on it enough.” 

It's all Ori can ask for from his eldest brother, really. Either of his elder brothers, especially after what Nori knew he had done with Fíli. He has no right to ask for more, does he? “I missed breakfast,” he says, because he did, and he's hungry. “Could I have some?” 

Dori smiles, and touches their foreheads together. “Of course, my love. I'll put the kettle on.”

They do not talk about Fíli anymore. It's just easier that way.

Ori sneaks out of the house a little after their meal, once Dori and Nori start squabbling over something to do with their guild. He doesn't recognize any of the names, so he loses interest quickly, and uses their noise to slip out unnoticed, just like he always does. Or always used to. Dwalin spots him, but waves him off. 

“Be back by four,” he cautions Ori, and Ori nods.

The kingdom of Erebor is very pretty from the palace. Here in Ori's neighbourhood, it's not much different from anywhere else he's been. Sometimes he misses those places, longs to leave with Nori again and go off on another adventure to some unknown place. Nori has no desire to ever leave Erebor again though, he suspects. No, he thinks Nori will be quite happy to stay home in Erebor. 

Then again, it is Nori. Even Ori can't predict his moods, or where they'll take him. He has done some rash, impulsive things in the past that even Dori hadn't been able to explain to Ori, but the worse times were when he sulked for days in bed and wanted nothing to do with anyone. Once, when they had been living by the sea, he had only roused himself for food and other necessities for an entire month and a half. Ori had been worried, but hadn't known what to do for him. 

Finally though, after that month and a half, Ori had woken to Nori working at his loom, humming under his breath as he threw the shuttle, his hair still wet from where he'd bathed at last. Ori had been relieved enough to stay quiet, like Nori so clearly wanted him to. 

He was always more stable when Dwalin was around, perhaps because Dwalin kept him grounded. 

Ori's walked further than he knows. He finds himself at the big gates, the ones that rise so far into the sky he has to tip his head back to look at them. He does so now, careful to stay out of everyone's way as people move in and out. He should head back, he knows. 

Instead, he keeps walking, until he reaches the bridge and spots a few carts lined up on the side, obviously checking their goods. 

“Excuse me,” he says, making his way over to one being inspected by a woman around Dori's age. “Are you headed into town?” 

“Aye, I am. Having a bit of a late start,” she answers, looking him up and down. His clothes are finer now then they ever were, but his cardigan is the old one of Dori's he likes, and his scarf is older too. He seems to pass muster, because she asks, “Looking for a ride?” 

“Yes, please,” he replies, pulling out a silver piece from inside his sleeve. “I have money.”

She takes it when offered and hitches her chin up at the seat, so he clambers up and keeps to his part of it when she climbs up beside him. The ponies pulling the cart don't match, one pale grey with white spots, the other brown. Ori's never been around ponies too much, but he likes the walk, like they're happy, and the way they flick their ears. 

Above them, Erebor disappears to be replaced with the bright blue sky, and now Ori tips his head back to admire it as well. The winter sun does little to ward off the chill, but it does show Ori that it's not yet noon, so he still has time he rationalises. As long as he's back by four, no one will worry over him. 

“You a weaver?” the lady asks, when they're about halfway to the town. 

“No, but my elder brothers are,” Ori says, touching his scarf. It's Nori's work, some of his best. It had been a present for a birthday a few years back, and it's still lovely even after a hundred washings. “You're a jeweler?” he asks politely, looking back at her cart. It's full of small boxes, like the kind a jeweler would have. 

“Good eye,” she says, snapping the reins a bit when one of the ponies keeps turning its head to the left. “Eyes on the road, Ruby,” she scolds. “Or there will be no carrot for you.” The pony does not seem particularly impressed by this threat, but it does look to the left a little less. “What are you then?”

“A scribe,” Ori answers truthfully, keeping his left hand over his right hand. His betrothal ring is not particularly showy, but it is a sapphire set in silver with the mark of Fíli's house in the design, clearly a ring from the royal family. She's a jeweler, and if she spies it, she'll know who he is. He doesn't want her to take him back to the city, which she would if she knew. “Do you have a shop yet?”

“No, but not for lack of funds. I like my stall better. Can move where I like, when I like. What about you? Do you work in one of the libraries, or for a master, or...?”

“I've been doing some independent work, actually,” Ori replies, stretching the truth a bit. They reach the town's edges, and head into the market. Ori disembarks with a good-bye, and an offer to give him a ride back if he came before the third bell.

“Only my little one will be coming home from lessons, so I must leave by then,” she calls after him, and he waves in acknowledgment as he disappears into the crowd. 

He'll be in trouble with his brothers when he returns despite having Dwalin's blessing, but it's nothing he's too worried about. They can't do much to him, after all. He's the Crown Prince's husband, after all, he thinks with a laugh. 

He takes a walk around the shore of the lake, away from the docks where the fish market is so that he's not in anyone's way. Down by the water, he thinks of the sea again and the way Fíli had asked about it. He'd seemed so genuinely fascinated. Fíli's never been very far from Erebor, he suspects. Never seen the sea, or mountains beyond theirs and Dáin's, never seen a forest that wasn't Lord Thranduil's. It's a strange thought to Ori, to have such a limited experience with the world.

But Fíli's been in war, and Ori has not. Sometimes when they're sleeping, Fíli wakes Ori with the sounds he makes the way he tosses and turns. Ori is never sure if he should wake him or not. 

The night Ori had let Fíli hold him though, he had slept soundly against Ori, his breath warm and even against Ori's neck. 

Idly, he gathers rocks and throws them back in the water while he thinks. 

Eventually, he leaves the sand and rocks to walk along the streets, investigating shop fronts just to look before he remembers that he has money now. With that thought in mind, he actually goes into the bookshop and makes some purchases, then a few more at the stationery shop next to it. He's careful not to get more than he can fit in his bag, but he is tempted by the confectioner's too. 

The big clock sounds twice, so Ori starts back towards the marketplace, his stomach growling again. He buys a handful of chips wrapped in paper from a stall, and an apple from another, so by the time he meets back with the jeweler, she's almost done packing. Ori gives her another silver coin and they head back to Erebor, the jeweler cheery about her business day. 

“Though I can't claim to have crafted anything so fine as the ring you wear,” she points out, and Ori blushes, again hiding his hand underneath the other. The jeweler laughs, and guides her ponies around a hole in the road. “One of my clients is a lady in the court. She was at the wedding. She did say you were a young thing, a little too young maybe. You look old enough to me.” 

“I'm of age,” Ori assures her. “You won't tell will you?” 

“And miss my chance to earn some goodwill with the husband of the king's heir? Not bloody likely, my dear.” The reach the bridge and cross, Ori getting down at the gates. “Are you sure I can't take you any further?” 

“No, I'm going the opposite way,” Ori replies, pointing in the general direction of the 'Ri home. By the time he walks in the door, the clock on the mantle is striking three. 

Dori and Nori are as displeased with him as he'd thought they be, but Ori doesn't have to listen long. Dwalin insists on their leaving before they're missed, Dwalin more than Ori. He at least has duties to attend to, and Ori does not. 

His elder brothers both touch their foreheads to his before he leaves, Dwalin getting a kiss from Nori that Ori pointedly looks away from while Dori rolls his eyes. 

“He's forgiven you then?” Ori asks hopefully as they walk together. 

Dwalin laughs, and shakes his head. “No, your brother is still displeased with me. He and Dori refuse to like any of the family even a little, though I've told them both he is nothing to be feared.” He grins down at Ori, and the way he does tell Ori he knows more than Ori would like him to. “He's a good lad.”

“I know.” It does not make Fíli any less than who he is though. 

Dwalin gets him back inside the palace, and Ori thinks he has managed to get away with his little adventure, until he runs into someone for the second time that day. 

It is Frerin.

“Hello there,” the Dwarf says, nodding at Ori. Unlike Fíli, Frerin has very blue eyes, and Ori does not like them at all. 

“Excuse me.” Ori tries to duck around Frerin, but finds his way blocked by the bigger Dwarf. He is still looking at Ori in that way, and he wants more than anything to be back in the rooms, safely shut away from this Dwarf. “I'm sorry, I need to get past.”

“We have not yet met,” Frerin says, smiling and not moving an inch. “My sister-son's doing, I'm sure. He was always a possessive child.” His smile is not like Fíli's. It does not reach his eyes. “I am Frerin, his second uncle.”

“I know who you are,” Ori replies as firmly as he can. “I know _exactly_ who you are.”

There's a moment where he thinks Frerin is going to actually touch him, his hand raising up, fingers extended, and Ori shoves himself back as far as he can, his back against the wall now. The pupils of Frerin's eyes have gotten bigger, his eyes darker now, but not any warmer, his smile sharp enough to cut as he does not even blink, staring down at Ori hungrily. 

But like a candle being snuffed out, Frerin's smile falls, and the intensity in his gaze fades. He looks away from Ori, down the hall. “Apologies then,” he says, nodding. “It was nice to see you, Ori.” Then he is gone, down the hall and around the corner, leaving Ori to slump against the wall, holding the strap of his bag so tight that his fingers hurt. 

Somehow, he gets back to the apartments, where he starts to unpack everything he's bought. His books are not as interesting now, the treats he bought unappetizing. He sets it all aside, swallowing painfully as he sits on the couch and unlaces his boots so he can draw his knees up on the couch. 

He does not open any of the books. He does not eat any of the candy. 

Instead he buries his face in his arms and tries not to cry. Even with the door shut, he does not feel safe.

He's more disappointed in himself than ever when he realizes he wants Fíli, not his brothers. 

That's when he starts to cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should go to sleep. I really should. It's like, two am.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The politics of Erebor could not leave Ori untouched forever, no matter how much Fíli might try to shelter him from them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blergh.

Fíli is not surprised when he cannot find Ori for midday. Ori is often elusive at that time, lost in the Library or somewhere else Fíli doesn't know to look. He's disappointed yes, but not surprised. 

He's surprised to come back to their rooms in the late afternoon and find Ori curled up into himself on the couch, not reading, not drawing, not doing much of anything but staring into the fire. 

“Ori?” he asks, spotting a few things wrapped in paper on the side table. “Did you go into town?” 

“Does that bother you?” Ori asks, his voice muffled by his knees. “That I left the palace?” 

Fíli is admittedly confused by that. “Why would I mind?” 

“Your mother minds.” Ori peeks at Fíli as he comes closer, and he sees how red Ori's eyes are. He's been crying again, and Fíli isn't sure what to do. “She's forbidden me from leaving the palace without an escort, did you know?”

He frowns, sitting beside Ori. “No, but it sounds like her.” 

“Does she think I'm going to run away?” 

“Perhaps,” Fíli answers, shrugging. “My mother is not exactly a trusting sort. I would blame Frerin and my grandfather entirely, but I must confess that I suspect my own father was no small contributing factor.” When Ori gives him a curious look, Fíli continues. “I don't really remember him, you know. He died when I was very young. I know Thorin loved him like a blood brother, as did Dwalin. But him and my mother, their marriage was arranged, you know...”

“I always heard that they loved each other,” Ori says, sounding somewhat sad. 

Fíli shrugs, a bit embarrassed to admit to knowing his father's faults. “Hemli was a good Dwarf. I know that much. I am not so sure that he was a good husband. Mother doesn't speak on him often, and when she does, it gives me the impression that their marriage was at best amiable.” He sighs, suddenly sure he's disappointed Ori somehow. “I think they were ill-suited towards one another, is all, before you think the worst. Mother is not...I have told you, she is difficult at times. I do not think she ever wanted to be married, and I get the idea that Father was not too inclined towards it either.” 

He doesn't know how to explain without causing Ori to think badly of either of them. He does not think his parents hated one another, and indeed, he thinks his mother was actually quite fond of Hemli, but not...not like a spouse should be. He gets the feeling they were more like friends, like how his mother treats Dwalin. Theirs was a decent marriage, by his reckoning. He has seen many court marriages where the spouses hated one another. 

“Ori, I don't want you to think my mother is unreasonable or cruel,” Fíli says, daring to reach out and touch Ori now. He runs his fingers over Ori's braids, and down around the curve of Ori's ear. His husband's ears are newly pierced still, and not healed enough to change from the simple gold pieces in the lobes. “She's not, really, and if you're afraid, don't be. If she's going to be hard on anyone tomorrow, it's me. I was supposed to introduce you to her over a month ago, and I knew it. But you seemed so...” He doesn't want to insult Ori, so he tries to phrase his next words carefully. “I thought my mother might be a bit much for you. I wanted you to feel a bit more comfortable before you met her. And I admit, I worried that you would hear stories about me from her and think me awful.”

He gets a weak smile from Ori that doesn't quite meet his eyes, but it's better than nothing. “She did not love your father though?”

Fíli shrugs. “Maybe she did. I don't know.”

“And your uncle? The king? He's never loved?” 

“Not that I know of,” Fíli answers with a smile, settling back on the sofa. “Thorin is...Thorin.” He hopes that encompasses his uncle and all his strange ways for Ori. Thorin is the most introverted person Fíli knows, despite being king, and he does not know if his uncle even likes most people, let alone loves one beyond them, his immediate family. “And I am me. Are you asking me if I've ever loved anyone?” 

His husband looks at him for a long moment, and then nods. 

“No,” Fíli says with a shake of his head. “I've never loved anyone.” He wonders if it's all right to ask, and decides he might as well. “Have you?” 

“I wanted to,” Ori says. “I wanted to love someone, just to know what it was like. It never happened though. My heart never opened. I think you were always in the back of my mind, reminding me that no matter I felt, I would always be with you at the end.” 

Fíli supposes he knew that too. “I actually kind of liked the idea of you, you know,” he says, hoping to reassure Ori. When Ori looks at him, he explains. “Outside of the court, or battle, I'm terrible with people. Kíli was always the more friendly one, and Gimli is charming when he feels like it. I never really got the hang of it.” He tries, but he suspects this is a trait he shares with Thorin. He can be friendly enough to get the courtiers to respect him, and he never had a problem with other soldiers, but when it comes to making friends, well. His brother and his cousin are his only actual friends. That should tell Ori enough. “For me, the idea that someone was already chosen for me was nice. I guess it really wasn't for you though, was it?”

Now Ori shrugs, and sighs. “Dori and Nori were not helpful. They were so afraid of this, and it made me afraid. You should thank my cousin Jori if you really are thankful for me, because he was probably the one who helped me decide in the end. Without him telling me stories, I might have run with Nori.” 

“I wouldn't have blamed you.” Fíli might not be as clever as Kíli with people, but he's not blind either. There's something wrong. Ori has been content these past few days, even longer than that Fíli thinks. Now he's withdrawn again. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Do I need to tell you that you already have?” Ori asks, his eyebrows up. 

“Oh, ha-ha, you're very funny.” Fíli doesn't know if the comment means Ori's mood is improving, but he's hopeful. “Can I?”

“What about?” 

“I've told you about my parents.” Or as much as he can without revealing too many flaws about the people he loves. “And I know a little about your mother, but not much, or anything about your sire.” 

Ori blinks, as though he's surprised. “Mother died with the last one, I'm afraid. I didn't know her very well. Dori took me away from her soon after I was born, you see.” Fíli is confused, trying to understand how a brother would have the right to remove a child, but Ori is not done. Indeed, he doesn't act very interested in the story himself, merely relating something he seems to have heard all of his life. “Nori told me she was like him. Nori has these...moods, you see. He's usually fine, but sometimes he doesn't want to do anything but sleep for a long time. It's usually only a week or so, and not very often. Then sometimes, he goes the other way. He works for days without rest, and he can get very impulsive and strange.” Fíli's never heard of anyone acting like, and he doesn't understand, but Ori seems largely unaffected by it, so he tries to pretend to be as well. “Her moods were more...just _more_ , from what I understand. She would get very angry and not want to see anyone, but she could just as easily be very happy. Or she would go to bed for days and days. So Dori took me away from her, just like he had to take Nori. So I lived with Dori and my law-sister until she died, and then I was always with Dori. Mother died sometime around when I started my apprenticeship. She became with child again, and it was too much.”

Something is sticking in Fíli's mind, and he finally figures it out. “Ori, just how many years are there between you and Dori? Is he that much older? And your sire, how old is he?”

“Oh!” Ori exclaims, and reaches out to touch Fíli's knee, smiling just a little now. “No, no, you misunderstand. We're all mother's sons. Mother never married any of our sires, and she kept us all. She had Dori young, you see, very young, and she had me rather late. The last one, I believe she thought she was too old to bear anymore, but it still happened.” 

That does explain it. It's unusual, but not that much so, for a Dwarf to be raised by only one parent. Children are precious in their society, but sometimes a Dwarf who could bear might not want to raise a babe up, but be willing to make one for the good of things. Fíli's known one or two before, children being raised by just their sire or bearer with no knowledge of the other parent. He hadn't known Ori was one though. 

He hadn't really known anything, had he? 

“Did you know your sire?” Fíli asks, curious now. “Or did your brothers?”

Ori shakes his head. “Not really. Dori didn't want much to do with Mother by then, and Nori only met him once or twice. Nori said he was quiet. An artist, like me, from what he could tell. And he thinks we might have had the same colour to our hair.” 

“He never came to see you at Dori's home?” Fíli has known children raised by just one parent, true, and he understands the idea in theory, but he cannot imagine not wanting to see one's own child at least once or twice in their life, just to make sure they were all right. 

“Dori and Nori aren't entirely sure that he knows I'm his. Mother was not one for relationships.” 

That _is_ unusual. If a Dwarf was after a child, they were usually monogamous until said child made an appearance, so that they could be sure which lines the babe belonged to. “Were you an accident?” 

Ori bites his lip, and shrugs. “Mother was...she was complicated. That's what everyone always said.” 

Fíli's smirks, and covers Ori's hand with his on his thigh. “Kinder than what I've heard my own mother called.” 

“Who would dare insult the princess?” Ori demands, seeming aghast at the thought. Or at the stupidity of it. Maybe both. 

“Mostly Dwalin and Thorin,” Fíli jokes and finally earns a real smile from his husband, one of the small ones that reach his eyes and turn them bright. He takes his hand off of Ori's so he can run his knuckles over the apple of Ori's cheek, until he hits the fine hair of Ori's beard. “You were crying today. Why? Did something happen in town?”

“No, town was wonderful actually, and I saw my brothers,” Ori says, turning his face into Fíli's touch. “It was only when I got back...” Ori seems afraid, and Fíli doesn't like that, nor does he understand what would upset him so badly in the palace. A guard perhaps? Someone saying something they shouldn't? Or...Fíli is an idiot.

“You saw Frerin,” he says, not a question, and Ori nods quickly. “Did Frerin speak to you?” Ori nods again. “Did he touch you?”

“No.” Ori shakes his head, coming closer. “I thought he might. He came very close to me. And I did not like the way he spoke to me. It was not...it was not...he was very like what Nori described him as, and I was afraid. For the first time, I was genuinely afraid in this place.”

Fíli curls his hand into a fist and counts to twenty in his head. His first instinct is to find Frerin and put one of his falchions through Frerin's throat, but he knows that's wrong. It's reactionary, and worse, possessive. Ori is not a thing. He's not Fíli's thing. 

He leans over to rest his elbows on his knees, dropping the hand he had on Ori's face in the process, and clasps both hands together to keep them from reaching for a weapon. From standing up and going to find Frerin, kill him, kill him for threatening what's Fíli's. For frightening Ori. 

If he does anything of the sort, it will frighten Ori more. 

He's surprised by the sudden touch of a hand on his curved spine, Ori's palm light between Fíli's shoulder blades. “Fíli?” 

“I'll tell the guards to disregard my mother's order. Kíli and I leave the palace without escort all the time, you should be allowed to as well.” Saying it aloud is a little harder than he thought it would be. What if something happens to Ori? He's a member of the royal family now, and not everyone liked the marriage in the first place. 

But not everyone likes Fíli or Kíli either, and they have the freedom to do as they please. Not only that, Ori is more experienced with the city and the world than Fíli is. He does not need Fíli's protection, and he more than likely does not want it anyway. He never even wanted this marriage, never wanted Fíli. Fíli wanted a companion who wanted him too, and he'd never even imagined that Ori would not want him. 

Some horribly arrogant part of him had just assumed that Ori would want to marry the heir of Erebor, that he would want the Golden Prince, because everyone else seemed to. He'd never given Ori a second thought. He'd never tried to know him at all, never even cared. 

“That's not what I...I wasn't complaining...I...” His hand flutters over Fíli's back, and Fíli turns, catches it. The way Ori is looking at him confuses him more, makes him wonder if he's done the wrong thing yet again. For pity's sake, can't he do anything right by anyone? He just wants one person that he can be completely at ease with. He can't even have it in his husband it seems.

Fíli holds his hand, and turns it so he can press his mouth to the inside of Ori's wrist. Colour actually rises in Ori's face, and it cheers Fíli somewhat. At least Ori is not completely unaffected by him. That gives him something, albeit small, to hold on to in all of this.

“Ori, do you -”

There's a knock on the door in the next room, and Fíli sighs out loud, disappointed, before rising up to go answer it. 

He expects a servant, or maybe Gimli. Kíli has never been one for knocking, not on Fíli's door at least. He does not expect his first uncle, Thorin, flanked by Dwalin and Bifur. 

“Uncle,” he says a bit stupidly, before stepping aside to admit the three of them. After he shuts the door and turns, he spies Ori standing in the doorway between the sitting room and the receiving room, his eyes wide and startled. 

Fíli doesn't think Ori has ever seen Thorin up close. 

Without the crown on his head, his uncle is a shade less intimidating, and without the armour he wears in court, even less so. However, Fíli reminds himself, just because Thorin does not intimidate him like this, does not mean he isn't. His uncle is tall for a Dwarf, like Fíli and the rest of Durin's line, and on the other end, Ori is a bit small even by their standards. There's something about Thorin, in any case, that Fíli thinks would be there anyway. 

Even without the crown and the armour, without the braids and the jewels, his first uncle is clearly a king. 

Thorin smiles at Ori though, and Fíli hopes it's somewhat assuring to Ori. 

“My new sister-son,” he says, nodding. “I do not believe I've seen much of you since the wedding, have I?”

Ori glances at Fíli, then looks back to Thorin. “No, your grace. I spend most of my hours in the Library.” 

“Told you he was a reader,” Bifur says, and steps forward, his arms out in welcome. He takes Ori by the shoulders and knocks their heads together, grinning all the while. “Hello, lad. I haven't yet had a chance to see you. The guilds have been at each other's throats for months now.” 

“I've never known them to be any other way,” Ori replies, smiling big up at Bifur, a bit of a laugh in his words. “I have missed seeing you. We were all very proud to hear you had won the leadership of the guild.” 

“Took a bit more than a fair fight, I admit,” Bifur says with a shrug, releasing Ori. “Bofur sends his hellos as well. Got a job with the guard here recently. Left the mines, if you can believe that! Thinks he'll be able to put more aside if he's got himself a fancy palace job under the king.”

Thorin seems amused. “We can hear you, Bifur.” 

“Oh, can you?” Bifur hugs Ori close and hisses to him, “Shush now lads, the nobs can hear us.”

“Careful Bifur, the lad is married to one of those nobs now,” Dwalin rumbles, as they make their way into the sitting room. Dwalin almost takes up a whole couch on his own, while Thorin takes the armchair. Bifur is still standing, speaking more quietly now to Ori, quieter than Fíli can hear. Before he can interrupt them though, Thorin commands Fíli's attention for himself.

“There's been a development,” his uncle says. 

“One that requires all of you to invade our rooms?” Fíli asks, sitting down on the couch opposite of Dwalin, so that he's catty-corner to Thorin. “What's happened?” 

“Thranduil has happened, as always,” Thorin bemoans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “He has demanded that if we are to receive Lord Elrond's emissary, than he is allowed to have a representative at any meeting I might have with said emissary.” 

“Let me guess...” Fíli says, and meets Thorin's eyes. “He's already chosen the representative? And could it be his dear youngest?”

Dwalin scoffs, while Thorin nods, and says, “I believe Erebor is now in the middle of some sort of dispute between the Elves. Lady Galadriel need only involve herself at this point, and we shall have ourselves quite a party in our kingdom.”

“A very pretty party indeed,” Dwalin huffs, sitting back on the couch enough that the wood creaks in a distressed sort of way. “All these Elves in our home, looking for something from us, and they won't even do us the courtesy of telling us what it is.” 

“I am not so sure that it is in fact anything we have,” Thorin replies. 

Fíli thinks on that, settling back himself. “You think they're using us as neutral ground of some kind?” 

Ori is still looking up at Bifur, laughing about something Bifur has said, but now Bifur is putting him off to rejoin the rest of them. His husband sighs, and gathers the shawl he was wearing up around himself a bit more. He smiles at Fíli, less a real smile than a reassurance, and slips away into their bedroom with his packages from town in hand, probably for a bath. 

“I think we are in the rare position of Thranduil trusting a Dwarf more than he does another Elf,” Thorin says, taking out his pipe. He helps himself to some of the pipe-weed in the tin on Fíli's little table, and lights it with one of the long matches in the box beside it. “What do you believe, Fíli?” 

Fíli looks at Bifur and Dwalin first, to see if they have anything to add, but neither of them speak. Resolved to admitting his shortcomings, he says, “I honestly have no idea, Uncle. Elves are strange to me, even after so long. I rarely understand anything they do, I admit.” 

“Perhaps we should bring young Gimli into this,” Bifur jokes, and too late, Fíli shakes his head, warning him to be silent. When Bifur sees the look on Fíli's face, he sobers, and looks to Thorin. Fíli, on the other hand, determinedly looks away from his uncle, not eager for this conversation. 

Thorin does give Fíli the chance to speak, but when he does not, his uncle commands it. “What does that mean, Fíli?”

He glances up at his uncle, and tries to make a show of carelessly shrugging it off. “Gimli is close to the youngest prince, as you've seen. They're friends. Some amongst our own find that strange, and assume there is more keeping Gimli in Legolas' company.” 

“Is there?” Thorin asks, and Fíli only wavers for a split-second.

“Of course not,” he dismisses, rolling his eyes. “'It's only bored courtiers, with nothing else to occupy their thoughts but the scandal of a Dwarf bedding an Elf.” Thorin has no reason to doubt him, and he seems to believe Fíli, but Fíli still takes the scrutiny off his cousin as quickly as he can. “I do think he would be the best person to ask. Legolas is his friend, and might warn him should anything be brewing between the Elves.” 

“True,” Dwalin agrees, leaning over to rest his elbows on his knees. He has a braid in his hair for once, and an extremely complicated one at that, bound with dark thread. Fíli studies it, his mind momentarily distracted, before he remembers Ori saying he'd gone into town and seen his brothers. 

He'd of needed an escort to leave, according to Dís' orders. Who better than Dwalin?

“If it comes down to it, Fíli, I'd rather have you at my side,” Thorin says, and at first Fíli does not understand. “However, you've proven yourself quite the leader without me. I would put you in charge of your own troops again.” 

Now he understands. His uncle believes they might again fall to war, riding beside Thranduil once more. Fíli does not hate the idea of helping their ally, but he does not like the idea of going to war again so soon. He already lost his ear and the ability to hold a full sword. What will he lose this time? 

“Yes, Thorin,” Fíli agrees. “If that's what you'll have of me.” 

His uncle does not look at him, instead gazing into the fire, his pipe between his teeth. “I would not have you so battle-weary so young, sister-son. It's so strange to me, how old you are now. Dwalin and I were not nearly so experienced at your age.” 

“Strange for me to look at Ori and realize he is old enough to be married to the lad I once saw knock himself out with his own sword,” Bifur says around his own pipe, and both Thorin and Dwalin laugh while Fíli groans. 

“If I never hear that story again...” He doesn't even have the excuse of being very young, but it had at least been a wooden sword and he'd been ill. “Are you all quite done? When I am king, I will replace you both,” he threatens Dwalin and Bifur, getting another chuckle out of Thorin. 

“I used to say the same to Balin,” Thorin says. “And he used to remind me that I was not yet king, and there were two other heirs who might be.” His uncle makes a face. “Though I admit, the thought of your brother being king...”

Dwalin holds up a hand as Bifur raises an eyebrow. “Enough, Thorin. No one wants that thought in their head when they go to sleep tonight.”

“Did you want to talk about the trade agreements with Thranduil?” He can admit to being a bit puzzled at this visit. It's not unusual for Thorin to see Fíli in his rooms, but it tends to be when he's hiding from Dís or Balin. Dwalin and Bifur being present negates that theory though. His mother is fond of Bifur to the point of Fíli being a bit suspicious, actually, not that he has any desire to speculate on his mother's love life.

Her marrying the head of the Miner's Guild, especially when he was from a different mountain chain, would be a good match though. It would endear Erebor to the distant settlement of Ered Luin, just in case they ever needed that friendship. There has been much talk of her marrying again too, and Fíli would prefer it to be to someone they all knew and liked. For a long time, he thought she might marry Dwalin, but it seems they really were never more than friends. 

Dwalin answers, not his uncle. “No offense to your husband, your highness, but he's a bookish sort, and well, Elrond has written that his emissary is very fond of books and histories and the like. Bifur and myself suggested to your uncle that when the emissary comes, perhaps Ori should be his companion while he's here.” 

“What?” Fíli is thrown by the idea of Ori of all people doing his uncle's spying, or that Dwalin and Bifur would even think it plausible. 

“Before you protest, hear us out,” Dwalin says, indicating himself and Bifur. “Your husband is a sweet lad, yes, but he's a lot like Nori too in the best ways. Ori is clever, and quick to adapt. Living on the road with Nori taught him that. And because of all that travel, he'll know enough about the places this emissary might speak of, and might know enough to suss out any lies Elrond's emissary might tell about those Elves.” 

Fíli is still reluctant, and it must show in his face, because Thorin now says, “It sounds reasonable to me, Fíli. And now that I've gotten a good look at the lad, I see their point. He's unassuming. None would suspect him of committing subterfuge.”

“You like this plan then, Uncle?” Fíli already knows the answer though. “I do not know how I feel about this.” 

“Lad, you cannot keep him locked in here like a pet,” Bifur insists, frowning at Fíli. “He'll go mad with nothing to occupy his time, and I know for a fact he will not take guild work anymore. He's too guilty about taking work from those that need it. This way, he starts to feel useful again. Trust me, this will be good for him.”

“And if you're worried about him pulling it off, trust me Fíli, I've seen that boy lie straight to Dori's face without blinking once. It's uncanny. If he has to, he can, he's not the meek little mouse -”

“That's not why I'm against this!” Fíli snaps, angered at the idea that he doesn't respect his husband. “I don't doubt Ori. But this sort of thing is dangerous, and what if he is found out? We do not know Elrond like we know Thranduil. We do not know what he will do if he finds out, nor do we know what sort of emissary he is sending us. What if the Elves' dispute runs deeper than we know, and this is a ploy to get an assassin close to Thranduil? We never did know just why those Elves turned on the Crown. Maybe they were Elrond or Galadriel's people. Perhaps those two have an alliance that does not include Thranduil, and that is why he finds them so distasteful.”

It's nothing they haven't all discussed before, but none of it has been said since the war. Fíli had honestly forgotten most of it until now, when his mind races with all the way his husband might be in danger by doing this task for Thorin. 

“Those are all risks, yes,” Thorin concedes, looking back at Dwalin and Bifur. “But he is law-brother to both of you, and neither of you are particularly worried?” 

“I am,” Dwalin confesses, as Bifur nods. “But Nori has taught that boy more than you know, more than I know. He's no great warrior, but he can fend off an assassination attempt perfectly well. He's clever too, and when he needs to be, he can be as sly as his second brother. It's not in his nature, not like Nori, but he _can_ be, when he needs to be.”

“Fíli, Ori is a good choice for this,” Bifur says. “You must see that. I know you have grown fond of him, and you wish to protect him, but you must remember that your duty lies with the good of Erebor first.” 

Fíli scowls. “Do you think I have forgotten that?” he snaps, insulted. “I know where my loyalties lie, thank you kindly.” 

“I meant no disrespect,” Bifur apologises, casting his eyes down respectfully. “Truly.”

The fire crackles, and Fíli turns his own gaze on it, their suggestion working its way around in his mind. Damn them, it does make sense, and were it anyone but Ori, Fíli would consent immediately. For some reason he cannot discern clearly though, his mind balks at the idea of Ori being in such a position. He would not Kíli or Gimli in the same place, but he knows they could handle the worst of it without fail. 

Ori, he is not so sure of. 

“It is not my decision to make,” Fíli says at last. “I am uncomfortable with the idea, but it will be up to Ori whether or not he may help in this way. I do not make his choices for him.” 

“You could,” Dwalin reminds him, and Fíli's lip curls in response. 

“I already took one from him. I will ask for no more.” 

All four of them are quiet for so long, Fíli wonders if he's given offense. If Thorin had truly cared to, he could have dissolved the contract, Fíli supposes. The repercussions would have been too much in the end though. Better for the royal family if this marriage went through, after the disaster of Frerin and Nori destroyed a good bit of their people's faith in them. 

The fact that Frerin had gone mad had not managed to remain a secret. He had been too public with it in the end, from what Fíli knows. However, the family had managed to hide Thráin's. And as far as anyone knew, the old king had died of an illness, related to old war wounds or something like that. It could not be known how often it had shown itself. Thorin could not be doubted.

Fíli's marriage had been a nice affair that had looked good to Erebor. A prince marrying a commoner, and a fulfilled contract, all in one. All very nice and neat, like things had to be. 

“I'll ask him,” Fíli promises. “If he says no, though...”

“Then it is your job to convince him,” Thorin orders, and Fíli's heart drops. 

“Uncle,” he pleads, but Thorin will not be swayed. Fíli can see it in his face. 

“He is not a pet, or a concubine,” Thorin says, and it has the sound of a lecture to it, so Fíli does not interrupt. “He is your husband, Fíli, and when you are king, he will be your consort. Do not throw him into his place blind, Fíli. I know you believe you are being kind, but you're not. He must learn now, while Dís and I are still here for him to learn from.” 

The worst part is that he is right, and Fíli cannot deny it. When he is king, Ori will stand in the court with him, and he must be able to. Fíli has to let him learn how now while he can still be protected if necessary. 

“Yes, Uncle,” he agrees, and Thorin nods approvingly, standing up. “Are you leaving?” 

“I have business with your other uncle this night. Why? Was there something you needed?” Thorin raises an eyebrow in query, and Fíli almost lies and denies that he does, his pride stinging at not being able to handle this on his own. 

This isn't about his pride though. “Frerin spoke to Ori today in the hall. Attempted to touch him even.” 

His uncle's face darkens like a storm cloud before the lightning, and he turns sharp eyes on both Dwalin and Bifur, neither of whom seem happy. “Who was with him today?” 

“Two guards I know well,” Dwalin answers, looking down at Bifur. “They would not have let him out of their sight without good reason. I will speak to them tonight.” 

Thorin nods, and turns back to Fíli, his expression softening as he clasps Fíli's shoulder. “I will see to this. Do not worry. He will not hurt Ori.” 

“He does it without even meaning to,” Fíli says, shaking his head. “Ori is terrified of him.” 

“And believe me, I understand why that is,” Thorin replies. “However, Ori will have to face worse in the court when the time comes. He must learn to handle interactions with Frerin, or he will have a hard time of it.”

“That's not fair.” Even as he says it, he knows it does not matter, and his uncle does not say anything more on it. He squeezes Fíli's shoulder again, and smiles at him. “Good night, Uncle.”

“Good night, Fíli.” 

Dwalin leaves the room first, presumably to check the hall, and then the three of them are gone. Fíli turns the great locks on the doors, and steps back in the sitting room, where he shuts those doors as well. 

It's really no decision at all to join Ori in the bathroom, where he sits naked in the sunken bath, a book spread open on the tiles around the rim. His hair is all down from his braids.

Fíli sits cross-legged beside him after he removes his boots, glancing at the book. “What is it?”

“You wouldn't like it.” Ori shuts it and pushes it away. “It's a study of calligraphy.”

“No, I would not like it.” It sounds dull to him, but of course a scribe would find that sort of thing fascinating. Ori would likely be as bored in turn with a day spent learning how to shape a fiddle.

“Is everything all right?”

“Is it ever?” The water looks hot still, and inviting on his back. 

“Do you want to join me?” Ori offers, and Fíli grins. He hadn't wanted to impose, but an invitation is not imposing. The water is blessedly hot he finds, and he groans as he sinks down into it. When Ori undoes his braids for him, he's more pleased than he knows how to say. 

“What's wrong? What did your uncle and the others want?”

“They want me to ask you something.” Fíli would rather not speak on this now, would like to just relax with Ori and pretend the rest of the world did not exist. They are right though. Ori is not a pet, or a concubine. He will be Fíli's consort, and he must begin to treat him as such. “How do you feel about being a spy?”

Ori frowns, his nose wrinkling. “Me? Spy? On who?”

Fíli settles on the bench in the water, and begins to relay all that he knows. Oddly enough, it does not feel like it ruins anything. Indeed, it's relieving to talk to Ori about it, about how frustrated he is with the Elves and their secrecy, Gimli and Legolas, and even war. 

He admits aloud, “I do not wish to kill anyone else.” He has never said it to anyone, not even Kíli or Gimli, for fear of being viewed a coward, but Ori does not seem to see it that way. 

“I don't think anyone likes killing, Fíli. You should not feel ashamed of that. Nor do I think there is as much glory in battle as people say. I think you were brave, and I think you deserve the loyalty you won. But I do not think you should feel bad for never wanting to have to be that kind of brave again.” It's very calm, and logical, and Fíli wonders if he has had to say something similar to Jori over the years. 

“I don't suppose I have a choice though.” He doesn't. He is the Crown Prince of Erebor. If Erebor falls to war, then Fíli will again put on his armour and his swords and ride off into it. He will go, because he has to. If he is not willing to fight, why should the people? He says as much to Ori, and his husband falls quiet beside him, though he continues to comb out Fíli's tangle of hair. 

“You worry so much over what people think of you. Sometimes I wonder if you have any idea how much the people love you.”

Ori sounds like he might be on the verge of tears again, but he is not when Fíli glances at him. He looks like he did that first time he kissed Fíli in their bed, when he looked at Fíli as though he really were the prince who deserved songs and stories. Fíli does not know why it makes him feel better. Perhaps because it assures him that Ori does not hate him, and he is not alone in the way he longs for Ori now.

“Never let anyone say you are not a good prince, Fíli, or a good person.” Ori leans over a bit, and kisses Fíli on the cheek. “And I will not let anyone either.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave me here to die. Or send wine. Or coffee. Starbucks, I love me some Starbucks. Some chai tea, or vanilla rooibos. Maybe a nice vanilla latte? 
> 
> Remember, conveniently located at [The March Rabbit](http://themarchrabbit.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr, for all your March-y needs. I take prompts, questions, and private criticisms in the Ask Box.
> 
> That said, how do you guys feel about this having a small companion piece telling Legolas and Gimli's romance? I'm not sure how popular they still are, they seem to do well in my _What Tradition Told You_ 'verse, but if there's even a little interest, I'd be happy to share my Legolas/Gimli feels until someone duct tapes my mouth shut. (You don't even know) (You realllllly don't)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N Some politics and stuff and Dís! Well, a little bit of Dís.

For once, Ori doesn't escape from their bed before Fíli wakes, but that's because he's in Fíli's lap, his arms wound around Fíli's neck as he rises and falls. Fíli finds his mouth somehow, desperate to kiss him in that second, just as desperate for the taste of his skin in the next. When he bites down on a spot under Ori's beard, Ori clenches his fingers tight in Fíli's hair and sighs as he spills between them. 

It had been impulse to kiss Ori this morning when he woke so early, and an even greater one to pull Ori on top of him and keep kissing him, sliding his hands up under Ori's nightshirt and dragging his blunt nails down Ori's bare back. It had all just been impulse and need, not one action thought out before he followed through, responding to the way Ori moved and gasped instead of his own mind. 

Now he needs only to thrust up twice more before he lets himself come inside of Ori, the first time he's ever done it. Ori hasn't said anything, so he doesn't think he needs to be too worried about it, and he doesn't say anything about it now, just breathes heavily into Fíli's hair before Fíli pulls out and they can fall apart. 

Ori starts laughing, for some reason Fíli cannot understand. He quirks an eyebrow at his husband, stretching the soreness out of his knees, now making their protests known against that particular position. “Something you want to share?” He's not offended just yet, rather sure Ori isn't laughing at him or the sex. 

“Did you wake up early just so we could have sex?” It's a fair question, and Fíli shrugs. 

“Just lucky,” he answers honestly, lying back on the pillows, folding an arm beneath his head as he does so. “What do you have planned today? Besides running as far away from my mother and her dinner party as possible?” 

Ori is already sitting up and dragging his fingers through his hair. “I was going to go see if we have anything on Lord Elrond and his people, and the areas around his kingdom, in the Library. I doubt there's much, but there might be something.” 

It pleases Fíli that Ori is taking initiative in this task for Thorin and the crown. He's less anxious than Fíli thought he would be, which either means Fíli has severely underestimated him, or Bifur was right, and Ori is bored out of his skull trapped in the palace without guild work. Possibly both. “You should ask Legolas when he arrives. I'm sure he could give you some advice.” 

“Legolas is Thranduil's youngest son, yes?” Ori is frowning at one of his braids as he speaks, and Fíli sits up to help. To his surprise, he's not rebuffed this time, and that pleases him too, though it's probably only because he's helping untangle it, not braiding it. “And then the next one is...?”

“It goes Dorion, Varanda, that's the daughter, Cevon, and then Legolas is the youngest, but he is his father's favourite. Dorion and Varanda are very involved with Thranduil's army, and you might never see them. They're not ones for leaving their posts. We see Cevon and Legolas more often.” Fíli smirks, and says, “Cevon is a good politician, and he gets on with Thorin very well. I think Thranduil is hoping Cevon's talents and the court here will turn Legolas into a worthy heir.”

Ori frowns, and turns to Fíli. “Wait, he's the youngest. Why is he the heir?” 

“I don't know that he is,” Fíli admits, shaking his head as he tries to find the knot in Ori's hair. “It's a joke we have. Thranduil favours him so much, and Balin always says the two eldest have little interest in the throne, not that they would even see it for another thousand years. Cevon might be the heir, I suppose.”

“But he's still the youngest,” Ori protests, finally pulling his hair out of Fíli's clumsy fingers with a smile. 

Fíli admits defeat, and follows Ori when he stands and makes his way to the bath. “The line of succession is not the same with the Elves. They choose the heir, instead of just deciding it to be the eldest. Maybe they simply cannot always remember who was born first.” That makes Ori laugh again, as he turns the tap for hot water. “You never had much opportunity to take baths before you came here, did you?” 

His husband shakes his head as he roots through the shelves until he finds whatever bottle he meant to. “No, I did not. In my neighbourhood, we had to get water from the well, and if we wanted a bath, it took many trips, and then all the water had to be heated in a kettle over the fire, unless we were willing to take a cold one.”

That sounds unpleasant to Fíli. In battle, bathing had been in whatever freezing stream was obliging, when they had been able to bathe at all. One of the worst parts of that was getting so used to the smell that he no longer noticed it at all, until someone else pointed it out. After a time, there had been no one left who was clean enough to notice. 

“How did you guess?” Ori asks, and Fíli smiles, stepping down into the sunken bath, the hot water only up to his knees.

“When I returned from the first war, I took two baths a day for three weeks, until I finally stopped smelling of the ponies and everything else unpleasant in the world. You should have seen my hair. We had to cut it, because it was too dirty to recover.” His mother had all but cried when she saw it, but Fíli knows a lost cause when he sees one, and the ends of his hair and beard had been one. So he had asked Gimli to do the deed, not trusting Kíli near his head with a pair of scissors, and taken off no less than four inches of his hair and most of his moustache. 

Ori looks properly shocked, as Fíli knew he would. Jori would have sooner shaved Fíli as bald as Dwalin before he would have let anyone near his hair or beard, and he had been careful to keep it in its braids at all times, up and away from the dirt and muck. “I cannot imagine my hair ever being so dirty that I would need to cut it.” He sounds properly shocked too, as he joins Fíli in the bath now. “Dori would never allow it.”

“You are an adult,” Fíli reminds him, puzzled. “And married besides. How would Dori forbid you from anything?” 

“You will meet him tonight at dinner,” Ori says in a manner that does not bode well for Fíli. “And then you will never ask me that question again, I promise you.” 

Fíli purses his lips, then asks, “Why does that frighten me?”

“You'll see,” Ori practically sings, submerging himself completely. 

That does not bode well at all, Fíli thinks, and does not give him much incentive to actually show up for this dinner of his mother's. In fact, he starts to wonder if he should not volunteer to go out with the scouts today after he finishes with his uncle and the rest of the king's council. His uncle would allow it, he's sure, and might even join him if he thinks they can both get away with it. 

Unfortunately, his mother knows them both well, and when he enters the council room, it's to see the princess sitting at his uncle's right, Bifur beside her while the other cowards keep their distance. Thorin shares a look with Fíli that tells him there's no escape from her, so Fíli finds his courage and sits across from her.

She raises an eyebrow. “Late, dearest?” 

“I was delayed.” It's the best Fíli can come up with on short notice, and the moment the words are out of his mouth, he realizes what they imply. Dwalin cannot help but snort into his beard, though the others manage to refrain, for which Fíli is grateful. “What brings you to the council this morning, Mother?” 

“Making sure you and your uncle do not decide that our borders need to be scouted today,” she says, and Fíli cringes inwardly. “Though it does amuse me when the pair of you believe you are capable of deceiving me.” 

Thorin sighs through his fingers. “Now that you've successfully frightened everyone here, may we conduct Erebor's business?” He looks at Fíli's mother with his eyebrows raised. “Please?” he asks impatiently. “Only I believe the kingdom might take precedence.” 

“The only thing delaying you and your business was my son, and now he is here, so now you might get on with it,” Dís replies just as impatiently, and Fíli wishes he had anything else to do on this morning. Anything at all. “And for the Maker's sake, I was only joking, Fíli. I'm representing the wishes of the Guild Council today. Contrary to the beliefs of you lot, my life does not actually revolve around tormenting you.” 

Thorin looks as though he believes that as much as Fíli, but it seems his mother is sincere. She has legitimate business with the council today, and though it might only be breaking two stones with one blow, the guilds are usually her priority.

“Regarding the situation we have coming up,” Bifur opens, smiling at everyone. “We should prepare for what might be a very unpleasant visit. Lord Elrond's emissary will be staying for as long as he is welcome, apparently, or until Elrond has satisfied himself.”

“Funny how Elrond believes his emissary will be welcome in our kingdom at all,” Dwalin says, shaking his head. “These Elves, I have never understood them or their ways.” 

Thorin shrugs, and Fíli suggests, “Perhaps Lord Elrond misunderstands our alliance with Thranduil, and believes us to be friends to the Elves.” He frowns, and briefly meets his uncle's eyes. “Or...”

“Or what?” Thorin invites him to continue. 

“Or Lord Elrond is pretending that sort of ignorance to our ways, gambling that we will not refuse him so as not to alienate him. This way he might push past Thranduil's defences without opposition and get what he wants.” It's an idea Fíli's had forming since the letter arrived, one he's still not sure of. It sounds like an idea Thranduil might try, were he not already so confident of his welcome in Erebor. “Whatever it is he wants, that is. Uncle, I think we must speak to Thranduil on this, and see if he might not simply tell us what it is he is hiding from Elrond and the rest of them, so that we are not caught unprepared.” 

The king looks around the table, clearly wanting everyone else's opinions as well. The ones sitting amongst them know his uncle well enough to not need to be asked, and it is Dwalin who speaks first. “I am not sure the Elf would even give us a straight answer.”

“He would not,” Glóin agrees, nodding sharply. “He is too arrogant to confide in us.” 

“Perhaps Legolas could be persuaded to disclose something,” Bifur suggests, not joking like he was last night. He's quite serious, and Fíli again wishes he were anywhere but at this table. He might be able to keep a secret from his uncle and the rest, however his mother can spot a lie on Fíli from another room. 

Thorin looks to Fíli, his eyebrows raised in query. “Do you believe Legolas' kinship with Gimli -”

Glóin makes a dissatisfied noise at the words, and Fíli can guess why. Out of the lot of them Glóin has the least amount of patience with the Elves. Many of their kind are not fond of the race, but amongst the court, there is usually a more amiable mindset. Not so with Glóin, which is perhaps one of the biggest reasons Fíli is still so surprised at Gimli's closeness with Legolas. 

The king does not appreciate being interrupted, and Glóin is reminded by the way Thorin looks at him now. “Something you wish to add, cousin?” Thorin asks, clearly not wanting an answer. “For you see, I thought that your son's friendship with the beloved son of our greatest ally might prove advantageous to us in this extremely delicate situation. Do you have some sort of protest to that?” 

“No, your grace.” Glóin is suitably humbled, and so Thorin turns back to Fíli.

“As I was saying, Fíli,” his uncle continues, packing his pipe while he does so. “Do you honestly believe that Legolas would be willing to reveal something of this mystery to us so that we are not wandering blind through this.” 

Fíli thinks on it for a long moment before he answers, packing his own pipe in the process. He hates to ask Gimli for something such as this. It feels too much like manipulation for his taste, but at the same time, he knows Gimli would not mind being asked. Whether or not Legolas will, or even can, tell them just what is between Thranduil and Elrond is another layer on the mess. 

He does love Gimli. Fíli is not stupid, nor is he blind, and now that Gimli has told him the truth, he sees in retrospect all of the signs he had ignored. The two long plaits Gimli has been wearing his hair in, for one. They are too simple for a Dwarf, the utilitarian three-strand plaid without any other adornment very Elvish now that he knew what he was seeing. Fíli does not doubt that putting braids of one's own design in someone's hair is almost as intimate to an Elf as it is to a Dwarf. 

Would he betray his father's confidence for Gimli though? Love is not always the highest priority for a prince, and Fíli can appreciate Legolas' position. Legolas might not be free to disclose the exact nature of the bad blood between the Elves, or what exactly it is Thranduil does not want Elrond to know about the War of Three. Fíli cannot make pick or axe of it, personally. 

“I believe I must speak to Gimli about this before I say anything one way or the other,” he answers, not wanting to get Thorin's hopes up. “Legolas trusts Gimli a great deal, but with his own life. Not necessarily his family's or his kingdom's.” 

Thorin exhales smoke and nods. “Then ask, and see what you might do.” 

“Yes, Uncle.” Fíli will try his best on this one. He hates the idea of having to suss it out himself, constantly afraid of being lost in the long history between the Elves. If Fíli must go into battle, he would rather go into it with a plan of attack. “Have we made a decision on the copper prices yet?” 

The council turns to the next order of business, and Fíli tries to follow along as best as he can. He can admit he does not always understand just what is said at the council meetings about the finer points of their economy or the guilds, but then, that is why they have the council. He understands enough to not be lost, and that is all that matters. 

Glóin and Bifur once again fall to bitter insults, and Fíli pinches the bridge of his nose with his left hand, and unfortunately, the motion causes something in the hand to pinch painfully enough that he swears under his breath. Thorin and his mother both look at him with concern, but he shakes his head at them, flexing his hand out. 

He needs to see the healer again soon. It's been pinching more often as of late, and he wants to be sure there is nothing seriously wrong. 

“You are mad if you believe that the guilds will agree to that!” Bifur shouts at Glóin, pounding his fist into the table hard enough that everything on it shakes. “The Jeweller's Guild will riot, and that is not an exaggeration, you son of a -”

“There will no rioting in Erebor while I run the guards.” Even Dwalin is raising his voice now. 

“Bifur is not wrong,” Dís joins in, standing to see Glóin around Bifur. “If you had done any guild work in these past thirty years, you would know things have gotten very tense between more than one of them! This is not the usual squabbling, this is Erebor on the brink of protests and refusal to work!” 

“I have had more to do for Erebor than shape necklaces and beads, Princess,” Glóin fires back. “If the guilds are in such a state, it is your doing! It is your duty to run them, and if they are not working, then you have failed in your responsibilities!” 

Fíli is not surprised when Dís does not shout. His mother does not usually grow louder when she is truly angry. Instead, she falls quiet, as she does now, her mouth in a line that gives Fíli a bad feeling about what sort of mood she will be in later tonight. 

“So tell me then, goldsmith, what would your suggestion be? To raise the price on copper for guilds who are only just now breaking even every year?” 

Glóin scowls, but Dís' even tone has calmed him somewhat. “The prices must be regulated, or there will be consequences you cannot conceive of, your highness.” 

“No one is saying that any part of our market should be unregulated, however you must factor in that the smaller guilds depend upon the prices being capped at a reasonable number. If the copper goes up any higher, it will have consequences as well, ones that effect whether or not there is enough food on the table for some families.” His mother makes a valid point, however, Fíli does not pretend to truly understand all of this that well, so he stays quiet. “Now is not the time to be raising prices.”

“Perhaps we should try to reach a compromise, since it is clear the guilds and the treasury will not reach complete agreement,” Balin suggests, weighing in at last. He is the eldest amongst them, had advised Fíli's own grandfather before Thorin, and is usually the one who brokers peace between them all after the shouting has ceased. “Glóin, you say the price on copper must be raised, Dís, you say the guilds will not have the current suggested hike. So we must raise the copper only a little -”

“That will not cover the cost of -” Glóin interrupts, his voice raised again, but Balin holds a hand up to silence him. 

“And perhaps we might see if there is somewhere else we can make up the deficit. The tax on grain has not been raised in many a year after all.” Balin settles his hands across his stomach, apparently waiting for the new round of disagreements. 

It's Fíli who has one now. “I will not see the prices on food raised, especially not on such a staple as grain. It will be the lower boroughs who are most effected, and I am not eager to see anyone go hungry. Not here. Not in Erebor.” They are the greatest Dwarf kingdom here in the West, from what Fíli understands. What great kingdom cannot feed her own people? “The taxes on staples such as corn, grain, potatoes, those will not be raised. Perhaps the taxes on the finer cloths, the ones we import from the South, such as silk.” 

“Your highness, that's very noble, but if the Men raise the prices on food, we do not have a choice but to raise the taxes,” Balin reminds him gently. 

“And if that day does come when they ask to raise the prices, can we not in turn remind them that we control the water, and the trade of precious metals, the one they depend upon for their own economy?” Fíli asks, raising an eyebrow. “Besides, Dale would not do that. They enjoy being the Men favoured by Erebor and the Greenwood. They believe it gives them distinction.” 

“Fíli,” Thorin says, a warning in his voice. “They have been as much our friends as Thranduil has. They supplied us with food during our war, despite not having a stake. Show them the respect they deserve.” 

He has no desire to argue on behalf of the Men or Dale, or against. “Of course, Uncle.” 

The conversation moves back to the guilds, now his mother putting forward how many new apprentices each guild is taking in, how many are being promoted to journeymen, and who is ready to sit for their mastery. The numbers are important for the budget, and how the money is divided amongst them, and how much they owe Erebor in turn. 

Fíli is not particularly involved with this part of Erebor. It is of course the king and the future king's duty to be sure Erebor is run well, but this is more Kíli's duty. Speaking of, Kíli should be here if their mother is here on guild business. Perhaps he shouldn't ask though. He'll wait until after the meeting is over. 

He gets his opportunity when they break for midday, and his mother looks at him, impatiently waiting for him to offer his arm like a good son. He does as she wants, and they begin to walk down the hall towards the dining room, Fíli allowing his mother to steer him. “Where is Kíli?” he asks. 

“In bed with a head-cold,” she clucks, shaking her head. “Your ridiculous brother and Gimli were up until the wee hours practising with that contraption of his, and now they're both ill.” That sounds like the pair of them. Fíli hopes it is at least done. Legolas will likely arrive on the morrow, and Gimli will be upset if he cannot see his friend due to something as simple as a cold. “What were you up to last night that you were not with them on the wall, firing at squirrels or whatever it is you three do?” 

Fíli feels his face warm, and his mother laughs. It's best she believes he was only occupied with Ori, in any case. When neither Thorin, Dwalin, or Bofur had brought up what they had asked of Fíli last night, he'd known it was only between the five of them. For whatever reason, Thorin does not want Dís to know. 

“So the little 'Ri proved to be a good investment after all,” she says approvingly. “Had I known he would make you so happy, I would not have debated so long over whether or not to marry him to you or Kíli.” 

It makes Fíli uncomfortable how easily his mother talks about Ori as though he's a commodity. He knows she means nothing by it, that he himself would not have minded before the wedding, and yet he's still bothered now. “Do not speak about him in that way, Mum,” he begs, not looking at her. He nods at a passing courtier, some minor noble Fíli cannot remember the name of. 

“So you have grown quite fond of him,” his mother says. “I was not sure if Kíli spoke the truth or what he thought was the truth. They are rarely the same, as you know. His eldest brother always did say he was the sweetest creature though.”

“We get along,” Fíli says, not wishing to reveal more than he had to. 

“I'm sure. Of course, I would have known that had you done your duty and brought him to meet me officially.” There's an air of impatience in her voice, and Fíli rolls his eyes.

“He was nervous, and new to the palace. I wanted to give him time to acclimate, and not only that, you were busy yourself.” That is not him making excuses either. His mother truly was busy these past two months. Even before the wedding, Fíli had hardly seen her for more than a few minutes at a time. “Who did you invite?” 

“Your brother was going to come, but now he must be excused. So it will be you, Ori, myself, Thorin, Dori and Nori. A very intimate affair.” 

Fíli perks up. “Not Frerin?” 

“Not once Nori confirmed his attendance, and your other uncle told me about the incident yesterday,” Dís replies, frowning deeply. “I had thought he could perhaps handle Ori and Dori, but after hearing of his lapse, and speaking to him, we decided that it was best he keep to his own rooms tonight, with a companion.” That's how his mother refers to Frerin's guard. 

Even though it was her arm Frerin had broken, Dís has forgiven Frerin in a way the rest of them cannot seem to. Fíli at least knows he has a good reason. For his first uncle, Frerin's madness could have thrown Thorin's whole reign into upheaval, especially with Fíli's grandfather falling into it as well so soon after. 

Though Kíli's coldness comes not from anything personal though, but for love of all of them. That probably makes him the best of them, Fíli thinks. 

“I am not sorry to hear that he will be absent,” Fíli confides. Whether or not his mother will take it well depends entirely on her mood, and as of now she must be completely focused on the guilds and the taxes, because she only nods, bidding him to continue. “I would rather Ori be comfortable during this family get-together, and Frerin makes him uncomfortable. Bad enough you will be there.”

His teasing earns him a stern look from his mother, but thankfully she seems to be in a good humour with him for the most part. For now, at least. He does not doubt his ability to ruin that by the end of the day. 

After he's eaten, he visits his brother's rooms, only to find him dead asleep, snoring loud enough Fíli pities his future spouse. 

He decides he wants a walk, and goes back to his own rooms to don a surcoat appropriate for leaving the palace, and fixes his hair. Ori is not there, not that Fíli hoped he would be. He almost wants to seek him out and take him with Fíli, but he thinks better of it. Ori might want to be alone for a time today, and prepare himself for tonight's dinner. Not only that, he said he was doing research, and he might not appreciate being interrupted.

Leaving the palace is nice, and he enjoys the walk down out of their entry walk, and onto the private walkways that connect the highest houses of Erebor into one sprawling neighbourhood. Not all of them are actually in use, some only meant as temporary residences for visiting ambassadors and others for nobles who chose to live in the other parts of Erebor, or even keep residences in Dale. 

Most of whom he passes on the wide walks and stairs are guards and servants, all hurrying between destinations or simply patrolling. Most know him well enough to only acknowledge him with a nod, but most don't even notice him with his hood pulled up. 

He makes his way down two flights of stairs, one great and one small, and around a few corners before he reaches one of the small noble house, a three story affair with an unassuming front door that he only has to knock at once before being invited in by a butler. “The young master is awake,” the servant says helpfully, taking Fíli's outer coat. “He slept most of the morning, but one of the servants just brought him his luncheon.” 

“Thank you,” Fíli says politely, and goes upstairs.

His little cousin is sniffing as he sketches out something on a little lap desk he has brought up into the bed with him. 

“What brings you to see me?” Gimli asks, when Fíli sits on the edge of the bed.

“Mother is with Thorin,” Fíli says with a shrug. His mother had pulled Thorin aside as soon as the servants had come to clear the table, and they had left the dining room with their heads bowed in confidence. “I suspect there is a problem with the guilds she is not yet ready for the whole council to know. Either that, or something is wrong with Frerin, more than she wants me to know.” 

Gimli hums in response, and then turns his sketch to show Fíli. “What do you think?” 

It's a new sword, or rather two. “How do you have them fitting in one scabbard?” Fíli asks, curious. 

“Look at the hilt,” Gimli instructs, pointing to the sketch with his pencil. “They'll lock together and come apart easily enough, while letting you hold either handle without trouble. Single-edged, they're twin broadswords. Exact mirrors of one another. Be a good light weapon for you to carry if necessary.” 

“These are for me?” Fíli is pleased at the thought, though he loves his current twin swords. These ones in Gimli's design are a lighter design, and will be better for scouting. “I'm touched. And here I thought you only saw bows and arrows now.” 

“Oh, you're hilarious,” Gimli says without much heat, his voice too congested. “Don't get too big a head, the design isn't just for you, though I was thinking of you as well. They're to be a gift for the coming equinox, if I ever find the time to forge them.”

Fíli frowns, but he's not upset. Not with Gimli. More troubled on his cousin's behalf. 

“Thorin has asked me to speak with you,” Fíli says, and Gimli's face drains of what little colour there is. “No, not on that. If he suspects anything, he does not say, and I do not believe it is anything to be concerned over any way. You know Thorin, he never sees this sort of thing unless he runs straight into it.” 

His cousin breathes out a sigh of relief, then begins to cough noisily for a minute or so. “That is good,” he says when done, his voice rough. “What else could he want from me?”

“It is about Legolas, though not how you thought. Thorin wishes you to see if Legolas might reveal something of his father's predicament to you so that we are not completely ignorant when Elrond's emissary arrives.” He feels a bit bad asking, but Gimli does not seem upset, just as Fíli thought. 

“Thranduil might have told him something,” Gimli says, coughing again. “Damn this, I knew we should have gone in, but that idiot insisted we finish before we did. Neither of us will be well by the morrow, and I will not see Legolas when he comes.” 

“I could bring him to visit you,” Fíli offers, and receives an entirely too grateful look from Gimli for it. He tries to explain as best he can, settling back on the bed beside Gimli, tired. His body is not used to rising so early, after all. “I do not pretend to understand. Elves are so strange to me. I cannot even believe the two of you find one another attractive.”

“I did not, at first,” Gimli replies, lying back as well and coughing again. “Their faces are so odd when you are not used to them. Their expressions are so subtle, I could not tell for the longest time when he was making fun of me or in earnest. We got on so well though, the pair of us, and we found ourselves in one another's company more often than with our own sorts.” 

“Was that how you fell in love with him?” Fíli asks, confused and curious of the situation. 

“Yes, though I denied it. He did as well, but more because he thought I would not accept affection from him. After a time, I came to suspect he felt for me what I did for him, but I did not act. Cowardice, mostly.” Gimli sits up after he says this, coughing again, and takes a drink of water from the glass beside the bed, then a spoonful of honey from the jar someone has set out. Gimli's own mother, maybe, or a servant. “After the Battle of the Wood, after he was nearly killed on my behalf, I could not deny my own heart any longer. Nor could he.” 

Fíli listens to the details carefully, analysing them in his mind, trying to force them to make sense. They do, he supposes, in that he understands how you might love someone who has seen you through the worst the world has to offer. How the bonds between fellow warriors feel so much stronger than any others. He understands those things, yes, but his mind cannot seem to move past the knowledge that Legolas is an Elf. 

He wonders what that says about him. 

“Balin wants to raise the taxes on grain and potatoes to offset the smaller price hike on copper,” Fíli says, wanting Gimli's input. “I think it is the wrong idea.” 

“Should raise the taxes on silk and beef,” Gimli replies coughing into his hand a little. “The lower boroughs don't eat beef, and they don't wear silk. It will not effect them.”

“I had not thought about beef,” Fíli says, mulling it over. “That would be a good idea, maybe. I will run it past the council in the morning, if we all live through this dinner tonight.” He sighs, and turns to Gimli. “I wish you and Kíli could be there. If not for me, than so Ori has a familiar face. You and he seemed to get along well enough.” 

“We did,” Gimli says, nodding. “I think he might consider me a friend soon enough, and I'd be happy to call him friend as well. No offence meant, but you and Kíli can be tiring in large doses.” 

“That's fair,” Fíli says, unoffended. “Sometimes Kíli and I grow tired of each other too. I miss battle sometimes, if only for the varied companionship.” 

Gimli's bed is very comfortable, and Fíli is tired, which makes for a bad combination. He forces himself up and out, stretching out his back. 

“Are you leaving me?” Gimli asks, rubbing his eyes. “Probably for the best. Can't even keep my eyes open.” 

Fíli leans over and touches their foreheads together affectionately. “Sleep well, little cousin. I'll bring you your Elf when he arrives.” 

“I do wish you and Kíli would stop calling me that,” Gimli grouses. “I am no longer a little cousin. I am nearly as tall as you, and broader besides.” He is not wrong, but Fíli grins anyway, because Gimli will be his little cousin until they are old and grey. “And thank you, for trying to understand.” 

“I cannot pretend I do,” Fíli says, drawing back. “But you are my little cousin, and if he is beloved to you, then he must be worthy of at least my own friendship. Besides, I like Legolas. He is more approachable than Cevon, at the very least.”

“Do not remind me of that insufferable Elf before I sleep,” Gimli groans, throwing himself back into his pillows and burrowing in, his papers and pencils scattered across the bed. Fíli gathers up the papers and leaves them in a stack on Gimli's desk as he makes his exit. 

Once out of the house, he's bored. He could go train, he supposes, but it won't be much fun or very much work without his brother or cousin. Still, he could work on his forms and maybe find a partner amongst the guards. There's usually one or two bored enough at their posts to give him a challenge for a bout or two. 

The walk back to the palace is disappointing. He'd hoped Gimli was more awake, enough to keep him company for the better part of the day. He's not sure why he thought Gimli might be better off than Kíli, maybe because Gimli is usually healthier than Kíli. 

He again goes to his rooms, and changes into something better suited for training, and grabs his falchions from the bedroom. At the very least, he can work his hand a bit and see if the tension is from him babying it too much. He has a tendency to do that to avoid the pain, and that combined with the winter chill that seeps even into the mountain might be what's bothering him. 

When he reaches the training yard though, he forgets his hand entirely, because he finds Ori there, shooting targets with a slingshot. 

Gimli was right. He is good. 

Fíli places his swords down quietly, and creeps up behind Ori, covering his eyes with his hands. Ori starts, then says in a very annoyed whisper, “Nori you had better not have snuck in again!” 

Surprised by the guess, Fíli takes his hands away and Ori whirls around, a reprimand obviously on the tip of his tongue, until he looks up and sees Fíli. “Oh dear.” 

“Nori snuck into the palace?” he asks, a bit impressed. That was no small feat. “Is he aware of what a stupid thing that is to do? He could be executed for it. I think it might be treason.” It sounds like treason, or at least vaguely treasonous. “When did he do it?” 

Ori bites his lip. “You're not angry?” 

Fíli shrugs. “Did he steal anything?”

“No,” Ori replies, still looking sceptical. “Why aren't you with your uncle?”

“Mother and him are discussing something in private, or at least they were when I left after midday. I went to see Gimli. He and Kíli decided to stay out in the chill on the great gates all night, and now they both have colds.” Fíli smirks at the way Ori frowns. “They're exactly as stupid as they sound. That means it will be just you, me, my uncle, my mother, and your brothers at dinner tonight.” 

His husband sighs, and to Fíli's great delight, leans against Fíli's chest. “I do not want to go,” he says, and Fíli laughs. 

“Do you believe I do?” he asks incredulously, and Ori shakes his head. “It cannot be helped. My mother will meet you, and our families will sit down at a table together tonight. Our only goal has to be that everyone lives through it.” 

“That does not give me hope,” Ori mumbles. “I should not have married you. I should have run off to the Shire or something, pretended to be a Hobbit.” 

Fíli thinks, and asks, “Have you met Hobbits?” Fíli has only ever read about Hobbits in books. “Are they really smaller than us?”

“Yes,” Ori answers. “To both questions. We went through the Shire to take a room in their inn. They're only ever my height or smaller. And they do not wear shoes.” He looks over at Fíli's swords on the bench, and asks, in a very small way, “Would you show me how to use your swords? Only Nori did not know how, and Dwalin admits he is not very good, and...” 

Fíli is already backing away, grinning. He draws one from its scabbard, and holds it out to Ori, indicating he should take it. His husband does, and seems immediately surprised by the weight. 

“Oh,” he gasps, putting in more effort until he lifts it. 

“And mine are light,” Fíli tells him, coming behind him and sliding his hands down Ori's arms, until his he can close his around Ori's hands, gripping the hilt tight. “Relax your hold, just a bit. This part you're holding, this is the -”

“Grip,” Ori says, and Fíli smiles. “The hilt consists of the pommel, the grip, and the cross-guard.” 

“Is there anything you haven't read?” he asks, suitably impressed by the knowledge. “Did you try to teach yourself swordplay from a book?” 

“...only a little.” Ori is turning pink, and Fíli wants very badly to kiss him. He settles for kissing his cheek, resting his head against Ori's after, close enough his breath keeps brushing the spot he kissed. “I do not think this the standard teaching method.”

“Standard teaching method involves an instructor hitting you with a wooden sword until you are black and blue,” Fíli says. “I do not believe you would enjoy that method at all. Or would you?” 

“No,” Ori replies firmly, giving Fíli a funny look. “I don't like it at all.” 

Fíli realizes what he thinks and laughs into Ori's shoulder. “I was only teasing. That is nothing I enjoy either, I promise.”

“All right then.” Ori settles into his hold more easily, and it makes Fíli happier than he thought it would. He likes this. He likes his husband being so much more comfortable with his touch, enough he even seems to seek it out. 

He releases Ori's hands, and steps away from him, pulling out the other falchion. “Watch me, see if you might follow a little.” 

This really isn't how it's done at all, but it's more fun to be allowed to play with the real thing first. Fíli had loved when Thorin had allowed him to hold his great sword, the one that required two hands to wield, even for Thorin. It had never failed to make him train harder with first the wooden swords and then with his first real sword. 

Ori tries to follow Fíli's simple movements, but he's clumsy, and after only a few minutes, the sword is obviously too heavy for him to hold one-handed. He offers it back to Fíli, a bit red in the face from the exertion and embarrassment, but Fíli takes it back with a smile he hopes is reassuring. “Heavier than you thought?” 

“How heavy is Thorin's sword?” he asks, flexing his fingers. 

“Maybe both of mine together,” Fíli hazards, sheathing them both. “Show me how to use your slingshot. Let's see if I'm any good.”

He's not, as it turns out, but he didn't think he would be. Either way, it seems to cheer Ori a bit, as Fíli thought it might. Honestly, he didn't expect to be as bad as he is with the thing, but he's not too torn up over it. And if Ori is really interested in learning the sword, Fíli can find him a teacher who will show him the proper technique. 

He says as much as they make their way back to their rooms, the hour of the dreaded party approaching. They both need to clean up and dress accordingly for it, and it might take longer than Fíli is used too, considering Ori's braids. 

“I do not know,” Ori says in reply, as they enter their rooms. “I'm not really much of a warrior, and truthfully, I only ever wanted to be one in theory.” He doesn't meet Fíli's eyes as he chooses a different set of clothes. “I do not think I would be a good soldier.” 

“You don't have to be a good soldier to be able to defend yourself.” Fíli strips off his clothes carelessly, deciding his trousers and boots are good enough for his mother and family. They're both good quality and in decent shape. 

Once he's washed up, he finds Ori already dressed and sorting through Fíli's clothes. “Dori and Nori are weavers,” he reminds Fíli, “and they will not approve of certain things.” Fíli doesn't particularly mind having his clothes picked out. He'd had a valet once whose job had been to do just that, but when the Dwarf had retired from the position, Fíli had not been much motivated to replace him. He did not much like strangers touching him now. 

Ori chooses a blue shirt of Fíli's with a relatively simple weave as far as he can tell, but he trusts Ori's judgement on the matter. Ori helps him with his braids too, making sure they're straight and perfect. Once that's done, and Fíli is presentable by Ori's standards, Ori sits and does his own braids while Fíli watches. 

His braids are much more intricate than Fíli's and he's a bit jealous of the skill. “Are Dori and Nori really going to judge your hair?” he asks, joking, but Ori does not smile. 

“I want to look presentable to your mother.” Ori finishes up, clasping the end of the last one. “And your uncle.” 

“Do you think they won't like you?”

“I think I'd rather not test it,” Ori almost snaps, and Fíli's eyebrows go up. “Your mother and my brothers do not have the best history. They were not good friends over these years, and Dori is not particularly happy to be in the same room as her.” 

Fíli does not argue. Ori knows better than him how Dori will react, and Fíli knows his mother. If she truly dislikes Dori, she will not be easy on him tonight. Polite, yes, but not friendly. He knew this was a power play from the start, but he hadn't realized just how much of one it was. 

Ori stands, and grabs a shawl off of the dressing table. It's blue, Fíli realizes, with a pattern of lavender on it. Fíli touches it when Ori comes close, rubbing the fine wool between his fingers. 

“Blue?” he asks, daring to be hopeful. 

“I am still a 'Ri,” Ori explains, not looking at him. “But I am your husband now too.”

“Are you going to protect me from your brothers?” 

Ori seems to consider it for a long moment, but he gives himself away with the way his mouth is trying to turn up into a smile.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wish I did not have to work. 
> 
> Because my new job involves a toddle bossing me around.

By the time Fíli has spent a quarter of an hour in Dori's company, he is forced to concede to Ori's earlier statement. He will never again question how Ori might be afraid of Dori's reaction to anything at all, because Dori is _fearsome_.

Fíli does not much fancy the way Nori looks at him either when they enter the sitting room, as a matter of fact, but Dori seems to be the real threat. All the eldest 'Ri had to do was look down his nose at Ori's shawl, and Ori had pulled it tight around himself, his eyes down at the floor. His power extends to Nori as well it seems, for he too looks to Dori before doing anything.

Nori speaks to them when no one else does, coming to them with a smile that's entirely too sharp at the corners, not at all like the way Ori smiles. “Little mouse,” he greets, cupping Ori's face and lifting it back up. “What pretty braids you wear today.” 

They are different, Fíli notices for the first time. The marriage braids are still there, the four-strand plait Fíli had woven in that first day, but they've been looped up into the rest in an intricate way, and judging from the way Nori is looking at Ori, it means something Fíli cannot read. The 'Ri are well known for their knot work, the many signature weaves in their family's book, and it makes sense to Fíli that they might have words hidden in their braids too. 

Whatever those words are, they seem to ease something in the line of Nori's shoulders, and he deigns to incline his head to Fíli. 

“My prince,” he says, his eyes different from Ori's too despite sharing the same warm colour. “You look well this evening.” His eyes narrow. “That's a four-sword stitch in your shirt, is it not, Ori?” Again, some underlying conversation Fíli cannot understand. “Did you choose your dear husband's clothes for this affair?” 

Ori nods, and again, Nori smiles, but this time it resembles Ori's own smile. When he smiles in that way, Fíli can look at Nori and see what must have charmed Frerin into madness. Nori is lovely to look upon, and he clearly knows it well from the way he winks at Fíli, even as Dís approaches. Ori's fingers tighten on Fíli's arm, and when Fíli's mother comes into view, the line of tension returns to Nori's shoulders, his smile sharpening as he turns to her. 

Dís is wearing her pearls tonight, the long strand of them wound twice around her neck so the sapphire pendant rests over her exposed collarbone, and Nori is eyeing them in a way that makes Fíli uneasy. From what he's heard, Nori has been a thief for a good long while now, and pearls must be a temptation. When she looks at Nori and their eyes meet, the disdain on both sides is palatable. 

The princess is taller than Nori by a handful of inches, for Nori is short like Ori and Fíli got his height from her, and she uses every one of them to tower over Nori in the worst way. For his part, Nori is unflinching, a proud set to his bearing that rivals Dís' own. 

Then he inclines his head, deeper than he did for Fíli, and says without a trace of a sneer or mockery, “My lady, thank you for inviting myself and Dori this evening. We have looked forward to seeing our Ori in his new home.” 

Fíli's astonishment at Nori's quick change likely shows in his face, but Ori does not seem at all surprised. Instead, he is watching Nori with something very like sadness in the tilt of his mouth, until he looks down and away. 

The presentation is a success either way, because Dís seems satisfied. She smiles and inclines her head to Nori a bit, just enough to be respectful of Nori's position as Ori's family. “What a pleasure it is to see you again, Nori,” Dís replies, smiling. “I admit, I have looked forward to seeing you on this evening. You seem well.” 

It's a jab that is not entirely unexpected, but it seems Nori is made of stronger rock than most of the others who challenge Dís. He only smiles in an entirely genial sort of way, and nods. “I am, thank you. All the better for seeing my sweet brother so happy in his new position.” 

And _that_ is not only a jab at Dís, it's one at Ori too. Fíli does not like that, not in the slightest, but he has no idea what he should do, if he should do anything at all. He is not privy to the relationship between Ori and his elder brother, and he does not know if it's meant to give offence or only to tease. 

Either way, Ori does not react, merely rests his weight against Fíli. 

“And how is Dwalin?” Dís asks, and Fíli sees her end. “I thought he might join us this evening.” 

“If you wanted his company, all you had to do was invite him, my lady.” Nori's impertinence is delivered skilfully, without so much as a spark of defiance in his eyes, but it rankles Fíli's mother, and he resolves himself to an unpleasant three hours. Hopefully, he looks for a sign of Thorin, but his first uncle has yet to make an appearance, and knowing him, he will drag it out as long as possible, finding some small task after another, all of which will absolutely require his personal attention, until he has successfully shaved a full hour off of his own time with this unhappy group.

Fíli knew he should have stayed with Thorin today. 

It's too late now though, and Kíli will not be here to distract Dís, so Fíli must. He says, “I saw Gimli today, Mother,” and Dís' attention turns to him. She's fond of Gimli, in that he was Fíli and Kíli's constant companion as children, and he was the easiest of the three of them. “He claims it was Kíli's idea that they stay on the wall all night.” 

“I do not doubt that, but Gimli is still more foolish, because he is the smartest of you lot and he still stayed,” Dís replies, and Fíli rolls his eyes. “None of you three are very clever I fear. I only hope I might go before Thorin, so I do not have to see the ruin you will bring to Erebor.” 

His mother smirks at him when he scowls, but before Fíli can get himself into trouble by replying, Thorin enters the room, still in the clothes he had worn that day. Dís scowls, and Fíli takes the opportunity to lead Ori towards Dori, as Dís plucks at the worn rabbit fur of Thorin's surcoat disapprovingly. 

Beside him, Ori looks over through the space between their shoulders and says, “Nori is behaving well.” 

“That's good, isn't it?” Fíli asks, raising an eyebrow. 

“Suspicious, more like.” Ori turns to face Dori now, the eldest of the 'Ri brothers standing by the great fire with his hands clasped behind his back. Now that Fíli has time to look, he sees just how handsome Dori is, and he does not wonder at the marriage proposals he's supposedly received over the years. Of course, he was probably better looking without the cold expression on his face. “Dori,” Ori says, sliding his arm out of Fíli's so that he can take Dori by the shoulders and touch their foreheads together. “I'm so happy to see you.”

“Yes, as I am to see you,” Dori replies, but there's little sign of it as he looks Ori up and down. “Where did you get this?” He pinches the fabric of Ori's shawl between his fingers, frowning. “This is not from Erebor. The weave is Western, and so is this fabric and dye.” 

Fíli isn't sure how someone can know that just from looking. Ori's shawl is a very light blue, soft and almost grey even, but not particularly interesting except for being blue. Dori seems to be able to though, and whatever he sees isn't pleasing to him. 

“It was Jori's wedding gift to me,” Ori explains, keeping it tight around himself. Fíli does like seeing him in blue, more than he thought he would. There's something about it that appeals to his darker nature, the part of him that wants Ori all to himself, to be only Fíli's as Fíli wants to be his. This part of himself is what has him reach out now and touch Ori's arm, but as soon as he does, Ori moves away. 

It stings a bit, though Fíli knows why he does it. 

Dori sees it, Fíli knows he does, but he stays safely in the subject of Ori's shawl, or as safe as that subject is by comparison. He tuts at it, studying the weave or the colour or the pattern more closely, whatever it is he is so concerned about. “He overspent, as that foolish boy always does. Probably talked into it by some trader. He could have gotten better here for less, and a finer colour besides this one. This will not last long at all. Not even worth the time it took to dye it.”

Fíli is not so ignorant to Dori's personality that he doesn't know an insult when he hears one, and if they were in any other company, his own temper would snap. His mother and uncle would not forgive any lapse tonight, and as a result, he would never hear the end of it. So he holds his tongue, and pretends he did not notice the slight. 

“This dye is made from shells,” Ori says to his brother. “I wrote to you about it when Nori and I were in the West, remember?” From the way Dori frowns, he does remember, and what Ori says next tells Fíli why he frowns. “It does not fade as indigo does. Even the sailors' blue clothing did not fade if it was dyed with it.” 

“Jori still spent too much.” Dori will not be beaten easily, Fíli sees, but Ori will not either. 

His husband smiles. “I did not ask, but knowing Jori, he turned it into a friendship with the trader, which he will turn into a business opportunity. So really, he is likely to make more money off it than he spent.” It's said calmly enough, but his fingers are still gripping the shawl tightly, as though he believes it might protect him. 

Fíli speaks before he thinks better of it, if only because the subject is Jori and he can talk about Jori easily enough. “Ori tells me I need to visit Jori to get my armour. Apparently what I have is below par.” 

“I didn't say _that_ ,” Ori refutes, shaking his head as he comes close to Fíli again. “Jori does make very good armour though, and you said yourself that he was good for mending your own when you were out there.” 

Dori's expression is unreadable as he says, “Yes, Jori's work is spoken highly of. And Jori has spoken highly of you, of course. It seems you two were somewhat close during your time together. Jori is such an amenable creature though, few can refuse his company.” There's an implication there that Fíli does not like, and beside him, Ori stiffens. 

Jori is a 'Ri, Fíli supposes, and he is a handsome Dwarf, in a different way than Ori. Ori is sweet where Jori is bright and fun. He had never turned down company from anyone seeking it out either, at least not where Fíli had seen. “Jori was a good soldier,” Fíli says, not sure what else to say. 

“Dori,” Nori calls from across the room. “Stop keeping him to yourself.”

Thorin meets Fíli's eyes, and nods towards the dining room. “Join us, please.” 

Beside him, Ori is no longer leaning on him, his shawl pulled tight again, and Fíli knows why, knows what Dori planted in his mind. As soon as the eldest 'Ri is past them, Fíli takes Ori by the elbow, holding him in place, and says in a low voice, “I never spent time with Jori, I swear.” 

“You remembered his braids,” Ori replies, not looking at him.

“Are you mad?” Fíli demands, keeping Ori close to him still. “Anyone would remember those braids, they were ridiculous!” he hisses, trying to keep his voice low enough no one else might hear. This is not the time or place for this sort of conversation, and _oh_ , Dori is a manipulative old goat, he knows that exactly, he's _counting_ on that very thing! 

Ori does not seem as though he immediately believes Fíli, but nor does he seem completely on Dori's side either from the way he looks at the floor and does not immediately seek the safety Dori is offering. His indecision rankles Fíli, because what has he done to cause doubt? He would not have hidden something like that, not when he would have assumed Jori had already mentioned it. Fíli does not remember him being very subtle, and no cousin would keep such a secret, not if they had any sense.

He had been warned that Dori was not to be underestimated. Fifteen minutes, and he's already managed to ruin whatever cheer Ori had about this blasted evening, and Fíli's bad temper is going to show by the end of the night, he just knows it. 

“Fíli,” Dís almost barks, an eyebrow raised in annoyance at Fíli and Ori's dawdling. “If you please, my son, we're sitting to eat now. Perhaps you would care to join us?” It is not a suggestion, as it rarely is with his mother. 

So Fíli offers his arm to Ori, expecting his husband to take it so they might walk together. Instead, Ori shakes his head and goes forward on his own, joining up with Nori. The second 'Ri brother glances at Fíli, the cold, calculating spark back in his eyes when he looks at him instead of Ori. 

Fíli meets his eyes, and Nori smirks. 

There's a surge of temper that rushes through Fíli, one that shouts that he is the crown prince of Erebor, the Golden Prince, and if he wants, he can have Nori hanged like the criminal he is. Nori gave Ori to Fíli to save his own skin, and the idea that he thinks he has the right to turn Ori against Fíli now puts Fíli's back up in the worst way. 

The urge is gone as soon as Ori glances back as well, perhaps to see what Nori is looking at. 

Fíli promised. 

Ori at least sits beside him at the table, on his right where he belongs. At Fíli's left, Thorin sits at the head of the table, with Fíli's mother on the king's left. Nori takes the seat beside her, fortunately enough, providing a buffer between her and Dori. 

He wonders just what the history is between his own mother and Dori specifically. He's never been very involved in the matter of the 'Ri family and their own, had never seen the point, selfish as it sounded. Ori would marry him after he came of age, and that was settled as far as Fíli had been concerned. He had never even visited him, too wrapped up in his own life, his own responsibilities. 

It had been a stupid, selfish way to behave. He should have visited.

The first ale and wine are poured and Thorin blesses the table so the servants might offer the soup, something cold and fruit-based from the taste. Fíli's not listening when the servant announces it, too busy watching Nori and Ori. He's noticed Ori has a habit of playing with his sleeves when eating, and now he sees that Nori does it too. It's unusual, and he can't fathom why either of them would do it. 

Without speaking, Dori lays a hand on Nori's fidgeting right one, and he calms. 

The silence is not unusual at their dinner table, but he suspects it is for the 'Ri brothers. They don't say anything at all though, and finally Fíli turns to his uncle. 

“Has Thranduil's party been spotted yet?” he asks, and his uncle looks up from contemplating his wine. His uncle is not overly fond of sweet reds, and tonight's choice is sweeter than even Fíli can stomach. “Thranduil, Uncle. Has his party been spotted on the roads yet?” 

“Aye,” Thorin replies, setting the glass down and setting it aside. “They should reach the gates by tomorrow morning, weather permitting. Gimli has offered his home to the princes, so that they are not confined to the palace. Cevon was unwell last time, if I recall.” 

Fíli had never seen an Elf unwell before that last time, hadn't even known they could be. The elder brother had grown pale and wan over the days spent inside the mountain though, the rest of the party little better. The little house Fíli had visited Gimli at is built into the side of the mountain though, and has a terrace or two if Fíli remembers right. There are a few in the palace of course, but none where there are apartments, and none built large enough to accommodate the tall Elves of Thranduil's people. 

Beside him, he feels Ori turn a bit towards Fíli, so he glances at his husband. “Does Gimli not live in his family home?” Ori asks Fíli in a small voice, his eyes still cast down. It sounds less like genuine curiousity, and more just an excuse to speak, but Fíli is not quite upset enough to shut him out. Even if he suspects Fíli of untrue things. 

“No, he does not,” Dís answers instead, glaring venomously at Fíli, as though it is somehow his fault Gimli lives alone. “Gimli's family is entitled to two homes. One in Zahar,” which was one of the upper areas of the inner city, “and a smaller home here, near the palace. It's meant to only be a temporary residence, and yet young Gimli insists on making it his permanent home. Such an odd thing to me, to want to live away from your family.” 

“Perhaps he wanted some peace and quiet,” Fíli says, and his mother's expression promises dire consequences. Fíli envies Gimli most days, able to live on his own with his own household and without the interference of his parents or the rest of his large family. “There's nothing wrong with wanting independence, Mother. Gimli is an adult, and soon to have his own workshop, to marry.” Perhaps not, but the point stands. 

Dís narrows her eyes to slits, her soup spoon poised above her bowl. “I hope you are not suggesting that because you have married, you would like your own residence now.” 

He hadn't been, but now he is, if only out of anger. “There's little enough room in the family apartments, Mother.” 

At his left, his uncle remains quiet, and further down, Dori and Nori are as well. Almost silently, the servants take away the soup and the first wine, and serve something involving stuffed mushrooms and the second wine. Nori at least seems interested in the food and the wine, and Dori is eating if nothing else. 

“And you, Ori?” Dís asks, smiling. “Would you enjoy living outside of the palace?” 

Ori swallows, and answers, “I had not thought on it. The palace is very large though -”

“Large enough to accommodate all of our family, surely,” Dís interrupts smoothly, and Ori quiets, not looking at anything but his plate again. 

“Perhaps Ori would like to be closer to _his_ family,” Dori suggests, aggressively spearing one of his mushrooms. “Return to his guild work, even. Or perhaps you mean for him to stay here, locked away behind closed doors?” It's said blandly enough, but it annoys Fíli.

“Ori is free to do as he wishes,” Fíli tells Dori, keeping his own voice even as he ignores his food. He hasn't been fond of mushrooms since the war, after eating them with every day with every meal. Ori doesn't seem to like them either; his plate is untouched, as is the second wine. 

The look Dori is giving Fíli could wither any tree in Thranduil's realm, but Fíli holds it, his own frustration propping up his will. He knows what Dori wants to say, that he wants to remind everyone that Ori has not been free to do as he wished for most of his life. 

“Have you moved into the new house yet, Dori?” Ori changes the subject as he finally takes a sip of the second wine. “You said it was near the guild house, didn't you?” 

The question visibly startles Dori. “Yes,” he says to Ori, as Nori finishes his glass. “The furniture was delivered today, and we were able to organise things a bit. Nori wants us to take on a cook, but I don't know that I would trust anyone with something so important as our food. What if he convinces me to take on one of his dodgy friends again -”

“Really, are we having this discussion _again_?” Nori groans, and holds up his glass for the servant who clears his plate away. “I said I was sorry, all right? Let it go already.” 

“You know Dori can't,” Ori says with a grin. “You should ask Shiori if he knows anyone for hire. He still works in the kitchens, doesn't he?” 

“He's returned to the guild house,” Nori replies, and Ori seems surprised. Fíli sees him raise his eyebrows in silent question, and Nori elaborates with a grin. “It looks as though we will soon be welcoming another 'Ri into the world, though I believe the babe will have his spouse's family name. You know how Shiori feels about the family name, and besides that, Hrafn's family has been having trouble continuing the line.” 

Ori nods, and smiles up at the servant who lays out the main course, elk, a better ale, and a richer red that Thorin looks far better pleased with. 

Dís frowns at the food, and instead turns her attention to Dori. “Shiori is a cousin of some sort, I presume?” 

“A first cousin,” Nori answers while Dori is occupied with the wine. It's probably for the best, because Dori does not look happy about the question, or more likely, the questioner. Fíli knows what information she's after, but Ori hasn't said anything and Fíli does not want to presume on a subject such as this. It's possible Ori does not even know. “Shiori is the child of our mother's sister, Valori, one of six children, actually, and they themselves have bore many children.” 

Fíli's mother's mood visibly improves at this information, but beside Fíli, Ori shrinks further into himself, his hands twisting uselessly in his lap, pulling at the threads in his sleeves. Despite whatever argument they're going to have later, Fíli does not want him miserable, so he reaches out under the table and covers Ori's hands with one of his own, squeezing gently. 

Ori does not look at him, but his fidgeting ceases. 

“If you are looking for a cook,” Thorin says, turning the subject away from the more personal one. “Bifur employs one in his household. He is your marriage-brother, I understand.” 

Dori cannot ignore the king without being unpardonably rude, so Fíli is grateful for Thorin. Somewhat socially obtuse he might be, but his first uncle is not unkind, and he does not seek out anyone's embarrassment unless they've offended him personally. 

“Bifur has suggested some names.” Dori nods at Thorin respectfully, his wine glass in hand now. “We have got along fine without one for long enough though, and I suspect we will continue to do so. Nori is simply being lazy.” 

“If you had cooked over a fire as often as I have, you'd want a cook too,” Nori refutes, and hitches his chin at Ori. “Tell him, Ori. Cooking over a fire, eating at inns, that time we stayed in that, uh, that seaside town, what was it called? Doesn't matter. I hate cooking and I'm no good at it. I want a cook.” 

Dori glares. Nori glares. 

At his right, Ori smiles to himself and the corners of Fíli's mouth turn up at the sight. 

“Nori is a terrible cook,” Ori confirms, looking at Fíli and his family. “He's ruined tea before, though how, I still do not know. Another time, I was upset with him and I told him he was the most incompetent pillock to ever walk Middle Earth and...what else?” 

Nori traces a finger around the lip of his empty wine glass. “You said I was off my onion, and that you were going home to Dori before I poisoned us all.” As he says it, a servant appears over his shoulder to refill the empty glass. Nori can apparently hold his drink better than Ori, because he appears unaffected despite being on his fourth glass now. 

“So Nori was upset with me for implying Dori was somehow a better guardian -” Ori continues his smile growing as he talks. 

“As though he ever let you do anything fun at all -” Nori mutters, only for Dori to mutter back, “Could you wonder, after how you turned out, you ungrateful -”

“And he attempted to make a pie.” The next course is brought out, a plate of fruit, and the accompanying wine. The servant whisks away Ori's still full glass of red and it is soon replaced with a glass of white. “He forgot about it and nearly burned our flat up. The landlady was so unhappy, you don't even know, I thought she was going to throw us out on our ears, but I managed to talk her around, after the damages were paid.” 

“However did you afford those damages?” Dís asks coolly, and Fíli would glare if he were not so afraid of the unaffected tone she's using. That one means she already knows the answer, and if she does not hear the truth, the target of her ire could expect a smack from a closed fan. “They must have been terribly expensive.”

“A friend helped us,” Ori answers, and Fíli quickly realizes who that friend must have been from the way he suddenly concentrates on his wine and the way Nori busies himself with his food. “In any case, Nori left the cooking to me after that.”

“You can cook? I didn't know that.” Now Ori smiles up at him, just him, and the warmth Ori usually inspires winds its way through Fíli's chest, improving his mood by leaps and bounds. “I never improved much, I have to admit, no matter how hard everyone tried to teach me. I never burned a tent down though.” It's more a point of pride than one might realize, because that had happened to a few others when they hadn't minded the fire or where they were swinging things. 

His husband is looking up at him with the pleasantly fascinated look he had when Fíli showed him his swords, and Fíli again enjoys being the centre of his attention. “You actually cooked?” Ori sounds less than convinced, and Fíli chuckles. 

“Did you think I had a servant to do that, out there?” He's amused by the notion, more than anything. “I didn't have a single servant to my name. I was in scouting parties in the beginning, mainly. It was just me and a few others, and none of them liked me enough to take my turn for me.” Fíli is a swift runner, and though he's not as good as Kíli, he's had the training to be better with a bow than most. He'd been assigned with the scouts more often than not, until they were no longer needed and the battles had grown more frequent, too frequent to risk him leaving the rest of the army. 

Ori's smile falls when Dori says, as coolly as Dís had spoken before, “You two do not know much about one another at all, I would assume, after so short an acquaintance.”

Even Thorin cannot miss the implication, and he sets his wine glass down to settle back in his chair. “I admit to having not been married myself, and having no first-hand experience. However, I have heard many times that one rarely knows a partner completely before marriage. Intimacy is gained through years of living together, sharing in small moments. Courtship is only a beginning.” 

It is well-said, as his uncle can be when it suits him, though if anyone at the table looks more unhappy than Dori, it is Dís. Nori, Fíli cannot read at all.

Silently, the servants change out the plates for the afters, along with the last wine, a dry one to compliment the plated confection. 

“You did say you had no first-hand experience, brother,” Dís says, taking a far from polite sip of her wine, worrying Fíli somewhat. His mother is not much of a drinker, and like Kíli, it tends to go straight to her head. 

Nori shrugs, finishing off his wine and indicating to the servant to refill it. “Marriage is much like everything else, I suspect. We never know it truly until we experience it for ourselves.” He studies the new wine for an absurdly long moment before taking a drink of it, and once he has, his eyes fall on Fíli. “What do you think of marriage, my lord? Have you found it satisfying? Have you found my little brother satisfying?” 

“Nori, _no_ ,” Ori hisses, as Thorin tenses beside Fíli and Dís' eyes narrow. “Please, don't do this.” 

“The last, and possibly only selfless act our fair mother committed in this life was bringing Ori into it,” Nori continues, despite Ori's plea and the way Dori is trying to hush him. “He was everything to the pair of us, you see. She never did much by us, our bearer. She did not love us. She loved nothing.” It's a confession brought on by too much wine, Nori obviously much drunker than Fíli thought, though he does not sway or slur his words. “But we loved him and one another. It was enough. I thought it would always be enough.”

“Apparently it was not,” Dís interrupts, and the wine has indeed gone to her head as well, but Fíli does not know what to do, what to say. He wishes more than ever that Kíli was here to smooth things over, make everyone laugh. That skill is his alone, and not Fíli's. “Do not think your affairs are not known to me, Nori, not known to all! You were known to many a Dwarf before Dwalin looked your way, attempted to make you honourable, and even then that was not enough, you wanted to have a prince on your string -!”

“You are very much mistaken if you believe I ever sought out Frerin's attentions, my lady!” Nori shouts back, and they're both standing while Thorin and Dori look on in horror. 

Fíli might not have Kíli's silver tongue, but he is not one to wait idly by. He stands too and comes around to their side of the table, putting himself in between his mother and Nori. It might be more for Nori's protection than anyone else's, but Fíli believes Nori knows that. He simply doesn't care any more. 

“If you truly care for Ori the way you say you do, you will stop this. You're upsetting him.” Fíli hopes that Ori is enough to sway Nori back towards rational, but he is not sure. Ori _is_ upset though, very much so, his sleeves pulled and twisted beyond repair. “Mother, you know Nori did not need to encourage Frerin, and I do not believe he did.” Fíli does not know one way or the other, actually, but his mother needs to be calmed, and Ori needs to be assured that Fíli is not on his mother's side. He is not anyone's side but Ori's in this. 

Nori is staring at Fíli with something very much like laughter in his face, seeming to have forgotten Dís entirely, forgotten all of it. “I thought we would keep him, you know,” he says to Fíli. “Even after, I thought it would always be the three of us. Always. I thought you would ignore him, I hoped for it. I do not know what to think of you, my lord. I do not.” He chuckles to himself, swaying unsteadily in place. 

Behind Fíli, Dís takes in a shuddering breath and sits again, the jewels in her hair clinking together in a familiar way. Thorin mutters something Fíli cannot hear, and slowly, the tension bleeds out of the room, to be replaced with a heavy silence.

He knew this whole affair was a bad idea. 

“I think it is time we all retire for the evening.” Fíli hitches his chin at Dori, and the eldest brother rises to take Nori by the elbow. Nori fights for a moment, but then stills against his brother. When Fíli looks at Ori, he sees his husband half-rising, but obviously unsure despite how frantic he seems. Though it kills him to do it, Fíli adds, “Ori, why don't you accompany them?” 

Ori eagerly comes around to their side of the table, helping Dori direct Nori away. He doesn't even spare Fíli a glance, and it stings. 

Someone, Thorin most likely, summons a guard, but it is Dwalin who comes, swiftly enough that Fíli wonders if he's been waiting nearby. The hulking Dwarf doesn't look at any of the royal family as Nori all but plasters himself to Dwalin's side, Dori still fussing over the drunk Dwarf. 

“Fíli,” his mother says, sounding ashamed, but he shakes his head and follows Dwalin and the brothers out, leaving her with Thorin. Let his uncle deal with her, anyone else but him right now. He'll say something he shouldn't. 

Ori does not seem to notice him at first, too concerned with Nori and whatever he's rambling about now as Dwalin leads them all out of the private living area of the palace and into the entryway. It's nonsense now, rambling that Ori only replies to with low, soothing reassurances, in a manner far too practised for Fíli's taste. 

_“...Nori has these...moods, you see.”_

When they reach the outside though, Ori turns back to look at Fíli, pulling his shawl up over his head, answering a question Fíli never would have asked. It reminds Fíli of this morning, how Ori did not protest, and despite the inevitable confrontation Dori set in motion concerning Jori, it reassures him somewhat. 

“Do you want me to come with you?” Fíli does not want to be an unwelcome presence in the 'Ri household, no matter how little he likes Ori going alone into the city at night. 

“Better not,” Ori replies, shaking his head. “Nori isn't supposed to drink that much. Wine, it...it sends him to strange places. Makes him say things he otherwise wouldn't, but worse, it makes him feel more. He's...I wouldn't want you to see him if he goes towards one of his worse moods. Besides, you have a meeting first thing in the morning with Thranduil's delegation.” He grins, and Fíli does not hesitate now to kiss him on the cheek. He loves Ori's smile, and that's a startling thing to realize. “I'll be back soon enough.” 

Fíli believes him, or at least convinces himself he does, and he allows them all to leave without him. 

Once back in their rooms, he pours himself a drink and sits in front of the fire, thinking. He has never thought before of living outside the palace, has never had need to. Now though, he thinks about Ori and how frightened he was, how frightened he must always be with the threat of Frerin looming over him. Living in the same household as Frerin must be like putting a mouse in a maze with a cat. 

There are a few residences he could choose from, if he was so inclined. There's a house outside of the mountain, still within Erebor, but very close to Dale. It's meant as a place to holiday, but Thorin himself had stayed there for a few years. Ori might like that place, but it probably would not do. Fíli has to sit on the council, and he must be close by if the need arises. There's another house down near Gimli's family home, larger, but still small compared to the palace, that one meant for second or third children of the crown. And lastly, there is the house near the town house Gimli lives in. It's small, very small, only four bedrooms with two parlours, a kitchen and one dining room for the family, with a few smaller rooms for the servants. 

He swirls his drink, and wonders if Ori would like such a small home. It would probably be more similar to what he had grown up in, and maybe more comfortable. Having Gimli as a neighbour would be no small factor either. He's sure Ori likes him, or if not, will soon. 

He's still thinking on it when the door opens, and Ori comes in, his shawl back around his shoulders. 

“I never had any sort of relationship with Jori,” Fíli says, before anything else is said. 

Ori stands in front of the fire, looking very young. He is very young. So is Fíli. 

“I would not mind if you had. Jori is good company. Most like him.” 

Fíli shakes his head hard. “But I did not,” he says decisively. “Never. I would have told you. I would have.” 

“Would you have?” Ori comes around to stand in front of him, smiling in a sad sort of way. “I think you would have, actually, no matter what Dori says.” His voice breaks, and Fíli does not know what to do. “My brothers have raised me. Loved me. I have loved them more than anyone else. I have trusted them. And even tonight, Dori is trying so hard to convince me that you're just like the rest of your family.” 

He comes closer, to stand between Fíli's legs, and Fíli allows it, looks up at him. The wine and the liquor have gone to his own head, he suspects, and now he might be too honest. Ori is his husband though, so who else should he be honest with? “I could take you out of the palace. We could live in a town house, and we would run our own household. Frerin would never be able to see you, come near you.” 

Ori smiles, a real smile, and crawls into his lap, taking the glass from Fíli's hand and setting it aside. He's a warm weight on Fíli's legs, and Fíli thinks of this morning when he drags his hands over Ori's hips, his stomach. 

“Do you think you might?” he asks.

“Nori did once, that I know of.” Ori tilts forward, and their foreheads touch. “But he...he did not know...I can't tell you, Fíli, believe me, I wish I could, but it is Nori's tale, and not mine.” 

Fíli has suspicions of what Nori did not know, but he will keep those to himself. Instead, he kisses Ori on the mouth, soft and sweet, cupping his face to keep him there. Ori kisses him back, and again, this morning ricochets around in his mind, and he tugs Ori closer, both of their breathing heavy now. Ori's hands sink into Fíli's hair, pulling just enough to encourage, and Fíli's hips snap up of their own accord. 

“Bed?” Fíli asks against Ori's mouth. 

“I like the fire,” Ori answers, and Fíli rises up, but only long enough to lay them out on the rugs in front of the hearth.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Falls down)
> 
> Trust me, please, and read this whole note. Please, I beg of you, hear me out. (And remember Middle Earth has men that are sometimes bears/bears that are sometimes men, rabbits that pull sleighs and trees that can walk)
> 
> Let's be clear: I find the idea of male pregnancy in humans weird, purely from a scientific standpoint. It can happen in the biological world, of course, but not in humans. (That is not to say a man cannot be pregnant. Having male genitalia and being a man can be very different things) However, as someone pointed out to me, Dwarves are not human, nor did they evolve. They were shaped by an intelligent designer, who, not to be rude, made the Dwarves in secret and might not have had the best idea of what they were doing. 
> 
> I sort of hit a slump in my writing. I was bored and unhappy with myself. A friend suggested I write something I find challenging to give my mind something to work with. I have a few major taboos, and mpreg was by far the lesser of the evils/weirds. So i decided to give it my best shot, by being vague and implying a certain fluidity. I suppose the thing that annoyed me most was the idea that it wouldn't go both ways, so I fixed that. (That is, a Dwarf might have two biological mothers)
> 
> So if you find mpreg as weird as I do, but enjoy my writing, just trust me. Please. I will make this work in the best way. I know biology, I know gender, and I know pregnancy. (Believe me on that last one, if anything) Not only that, the less explanatory bits will be vague enough you shouldn't be bothered much. Remember that Dwarves aren't human, and Middle Earth isn't our logical, scientific world. There is magic, and designers of the peoples. Weirder things have happened. (Trees that can walk, a people that can choose their mortality if they have a little human in them, magic rings, witch kings, a race shaped out of the mud and gore, intelligent birds) (Trees that can walk, seriously)

Shiori's little kitchen is at once confining, and comforting, and Ori thinks that's a strange contradiction to be having as he prepares the tea for himself and his cousin. 

The rooms in the palace are so _big_ , really. Too big for just the pair of them, at least for Ori. The entire first floor of his childhood home could fit in their sitting room, and he knows Nori noted that when he let himself in. He himself certainly did that first night. Shiori and Hrafn's kitchen very small indeed by comparison, though very clean and practically arranged, and even though it's taking him a minute to get used to the small space again, he feels a bit more comfortable here than he has in the palace. 

Perhaps a lot more comfortable, because his shawl is on the table, being inspected by Shiori, and Ori has kept it up inside the palace more than once. “Jori gave it to me,” Ori says, pouring the hot mint tea through the strainer. He'd brought ginger tea, but Shiori had insisted on saving it for a bad day. Apparently he expected worse ones in his future. Ori has missed mint tea anyway. “It's lovely, isn't it?” 

“From what I hear, won't be long until you won't need to cover your head,” Shiori teases, taking his cup when Ori offers it, his face burning. “Now, now, don't blush, not with me. It's a bit odd, I must admit. I'm so used to doing it now, I almost feel a bit improper going without.” He winces, and takes a sip of the tea, though it hasn't yet cooled. “Feel a bit awful all the time now though. Siri had a bad time of it her first one too, she says. Says it'll pass in about a month or so.” He sounds more hopeful than anything, but Ori smiles anyway. 

“How is Siri? And, um...” He should be able to recall the name, but he has many cousins and they have many spouses and many children. 

“Rona, daughter of Elna,” Shiori reminds him. “They're both as well as they can be, with three children under foot. They both say they're done with making the little tunnel rats, and I cannot say I blame them. Three, by Durin's beard. I shudder at the thought.” 

Ori frowns, struggling to remember their gaggle of children, and hazards, “Siri had a pair of twins, didn't she?” 

“No, you're thinking of Seneri,” Shiori corrects, easing back in his chair. “She had another set this past summer, if you can believe that.” 

The thought of carrying two children seems rather unpleasant to Ori, but to Shiori as well at least. He knows it's wrong to be ungrateful for any children the Maker would bless them with, but carrying one looks hard enough. Shiori is having a worse time than he's letting on too, his normally fair face drawn and pale in the light of the kitchen, his usually complicated hair in a simple fishtail that hangs over one shoulder. His cousin is older than him by a good many years, much closer to Nori in age, and he has the length to show it, his auburn hair hanging past the seat of the chair. 

Ori hopes his own colour darkens to be a bit more like the rest of his family's as he gets older. 

“Is Hrafn pleased?” Ori asks, and his cousin finally smiles. 

“Ridiculous creature,” he murmurs, and settles a palm over his stomach. “You should see how he fusses. He does not even want me to work at the guild house, as though I could sit at home and do nothing for the next two seasons.” Shiori is not a weaver, but instead a cook by trade. However, the Weavers' Guild is full of 'Ri, and it makes sense to Ori that he would want to be with his family during the day for this time. Besides, the guild house always needs a decent cook or six in the kitchens, so no one will protest. “I would not say he is pleased. Thrilled might be closer. I swear he has told everyone who will listen.” 

There's a pleasant quiet lull in the conversation, Shiori idly stroking his stomach and drinking his tea. Ori sneaks peeks at him, the small changes in Shiori's body hardly noticeable just yet. Two seasons from now though, Shiori will be huge and ready for his confinement. “Who will be your wet nurse?” Ori asks, just to talk.

“Oh, Hrafn's sister, Drefn, since my sisters have their own to worry over.” Shiori has finished his tea, so Ori politely rises and refills it for him. “She is up for it, and I'm grateful, but I wish his family would give us a bit of space again. They are becoming a bit much, though I hate to say anything to them.” 

“Dori said they were having trouble continuing the line?” Ori sits again, eyeing the clockworks he can see over Shiori's head. He had again woken earlier than Fíli this morning, but he had woken him for once, to make sure he did not get in trouble. The Elves of Lord Thranduil are set to arrive today, sometime this morning, and Fíli must greet them. 

Ori thinks Fíli is right, and he must try to ask for their help when it comes to what Fíli and King Thorin have asked of him. He's never met any Elves of Lord Elrond or the Lady of the Wood, and he knows very little of their culture or customs. Nori had always made sure they avoided their settlements when they passed through, for reasons he had not disclosed and Ori had not asked, too afraid the answer would be yet another crime. 

Thinking of Fíli and Nori reminds Ori of last night again, and the way Nori had behaved. It worries him more than he can say, because whenever Nori's moods start to drastically swing, it usually means he's about to go into one of his long, quiet periods. Those times frighten Ori so badly, but if Nori is falling into one, there's nothing anyone can do. Dwalin being nearby usually lessens the effects, for some reason, but not enough Ori's not anxious. 

It also reminds Ori of Fíli's question. It's not something one talks about, usually, considered a private thing amongst even other Dwarfs, the question of whether or not a lass might sire as well as bear, whether a lad might bear as well as sire. It's such a rare gift, a blessing on a race of few children, and Ori understands he should feel very fortunate to be a 'Ri, a line known for the blessing of fertility on their house, however, he is unsure of that. His own sire is unknown after all, and there's a small chance Ori cannot. A very small chance, considering all his cousins, and his own elder brothers. Dori would never, but he's confided that he can, and Ori knows Nori did once. 

Just the once. 

He's allowed Fíli his privileges as Ori's husband, despite his own misgivings about what could result, and he's not sure it was the right choice at all. He could have said no, and he knows Fíli would have obeyed. He would not force it, both because of his good nature and because Kíli exists. Kíli will sire a child if Fíli does not, and that brother-child will be the next ruler of Erebor. Ori does not have to do anything he does not want to, he is sure.

He presses his palm over his own stomach, and wonders. 

“It would be the heir of Erebor,” Shiori says, still looking at his own stomach. “There's an interesting idea. A 'Ri carrying the next king or queen of our people.” 

“I do not know that I want that,” Ori confides, and Shiori nods. Oddly enough, the idea of carrying Fíli's child is almost appealing. Fíli would be so pleased, he expects. 

It would not be just Fíli and Ori's feelings to consider though. The princess would be heavily involved as well, Ori suspects with an internal shudder. He had not liked how she looked at him last night, the chill in her eyes that hardly thawed when she looked at Fíli, much less Ori.

“Bearing is a hard business,” Shiori says. “Been far too many who could not carry the babe to term, too many who died trying. I'm sure the Lion Prince would not risk such a thing when he has a full brother who could easily sire a child for the family.” 

It sounds very nice and noble, very much what Ori knows of Fíli, but he cannot help but hear Dori in his head. “'Ri do not die.” Their family is blessed, after all. 

Anyone not a 'Ri would bring up Ori's own mother, Glori. She had supposedly died from the complications, or at least that was what everyone had been told. It had not been a lie, exactly. Dori had told Ori about how different she was when she was with child, how bright and how very normal. Of course, that had always been followed by her lowest periods of all. And Ori, the last, had brought her so low after. 

“She only lost the ones she did because she would not stay clean for the duration,” Shiori says bitterly, and that's not a lie either. 

“I am not her,” Ori replies, and stands as the clockworks above Shiori strike the hour at the same time the great bell of the guild house rings down the street. “Hrafn will be home for luncheon, I assume?” 

Shiori groans heavily, and settles further back in his chair. “I beg you to stay. Keep him somewhat distracted. He is driving me mad, I swear.” 

“I cannot,” Ori says, a bit regretfully. It's been nice to have a change of company, honestly, nice to be somewhere quiet and small again. “Thranduil's people arrive today, and Fíli would like me to meet them officially. He wants to secure our alliances and friendships, I suppose.” 

His cousin struggles, but manages to stand to walk him out. Though he's only showing his condition a little, the nausea he complained of is making it hard for him to do much at all, Ori thinks. By the time he and Ori reach the door, Hrafn is already at the front steps. 

“What are you doing up, my love?” he asks, in his low, gravelly voice. Ori has only met Hrafn a handful of times, and he looks much the same as every other time. 

It had been quite a thing when Shiori took up with Hrafn. Shiori and Nori look a good deal alike, and Shiori hadn't been short on suitors when Hrafn approached them on the Eostre festival with a wreath of herbs. He wasn't much to look at, though his black beard was already long, and he had all but shook when he offered the wreath to Shiori.

Ori had been puzzled, confused at the gift. Shiori though, he had looked at it, then up at Hrafn with something Ori did not know in his face before accepting it. 

Now though, now he understands. Everyone else might bring an intended a pretty bauble, or regale them with stories of their own worthiness. Hrafn had brought a cook fresh herbs. 

“Ori came to visit and congratulate us,” Shiori explains, as Hrafn nods to Ori in quiet acknowledgement. “He brought me ginger.” 

“I thank you,” Hrafn rumbles, and reaches out to Shiori, securing a hand on his lower back. His hovering is obvious, and Ori is surprised Shiori is putting up with it at all. His cousin is tired though, and maybe he's feeling more cautious than he's letting Ori know. 

He nods back, as he pulls his shawl up over his head. “Blessings on your house,” he says to Hrafn, doing what Dori and Nori likely didn't, and acknowledging the child as being of Hrafn's house. “May your child be strong and healthy.” 

Hrafn looks a little happy behind his beard, but it's hard to tell with him. Ori says his good-byes either way, and takes his leave of them.

The pair live in a better neighbourhood than Ori ever did, but that's mostly because of Hrafn. His family are all smiths of various types, Hrafn no exception, and they've always done well. They're middling gentry of some kind, but Ori isn't sure what exactly. There are many Dwarrows related to the royal family somehow or another, and it would be impossible to keep them all memorised, much less those with bestowed honours. 

As Ori walks, taking his time and not much paying attention to the various Dwarfs headed home or wherever for their midday, he thinks about Fíli's offer some more. Truthfully, Ori hates being in the palace, lovely as it is. He cannot help but feel Frerin everywhere he goes, and now that the Dwarf has made it clear he knows who Ori is and where he can be found, he thinks it'll only grow worse. 

He pulls his shawl a bit tighter when a guard he knows walks past, not wanting to be found and returned to the palace like a sack of goods. Just because Fíli has said that he might go where he wishes doesn't mean the lady feels the same, and Ori highly doubts she does after last night. 

“Ori!” He startles, and looks over to see Jori waving at him. This particular cousin is not a very welcome sight today, as much as Ori has loved him in the past. Despite Fíli's denial, Ori cannot help but wonder if Fíli did enjoy Jori's company a little too much. Jori has never been very discerning about who he takes to his bed, and Dori has often made the insinuation that it would get Jori in trouble sooner or later. 

If his cousin senses his discomfort, he doesn't show it. He grabs Ori and embraces him so tight it hurts, Ori pressed against Jori's daily armour, its pretty design likely making marks on his skin. “Jori!” he warns, and his cousin releases him, frowning a bit. “Be careful,” Ori says, and realizes it was the wrong thing to say when Jori's eyes immediately go down. 

“Fíli did not waste much time, did he?” Jori says, whistling approvingly, only for Ori to scowl. 

“I'm not, you idiot. Shiori is. Don't you think something would have been said amongst the nobles?” Jori must have seen the braided ribbons on all the 'Ri doors meaning to announce a new child, and assumed without thinking. “And they're going to name the child as Hrafn's line. The Maker knows there are too many 'Ri in Erebor.” 

Jori shrugs. “Probably. Won't be long for you though, will it?” 

“Stop being rude, Jori.” Ori does like his cousin, but Jori is unquestionably blunt on a good day. “What are you doing down here?” Jori's shop is three levels up, and there's no call for him to be down here. He and Shiori don't like one another very much, as far as Ori knows. Well, Shiori hates Jori as far as Ori knows, mostly due to some unkind comments Jori had made about Hrafn, Shiori's state of being, and the very sudden wedding.

“Only out for a walk, cousin,” Jori says, linking their arms so Ori will walk with him. “I had a very productive morning, and now I want to stretch my legs, enjoy our lovely kingdom, and avoid a Dwarf who has been hanging around my shop a little too much.”

“Another one of your broken-hearted suitors?” Ori teases, directing them towards the steps that will take them up. He needs to return to the palace, after all. “Who was it this time?” 

“No one important,” Jori dismisses easily, waving his hand as though he's sweeping the Dwarf out of his memory. “Or very good for that matter. Spent most of our time together on my back, thinking of Erebor, while he had himself a very nice -”

“Jori!” 

“Dori ruined you,” Jori grumbles. “You headed back, then?”

Ori nods, and Jori grins, the gold chain connecting the jewel in his nose to the one in his left ear shining in the lamp light when he does it. Jori has done well for himself, and he shows his wealth with pride. “Do you want to walk with me?” 

“Aye, I would, but I cannot today. I have business later today, and I fear if I accompany you, I'll end up putting it off for another day. Being a success has made me very lazy, I've found.” 

He still walks with Ori a part of the way, up four levels and down a ways, until they are close to the wealthiest area of the city, where Ori can see the palace built into the very mountainside, far enough ahead it looms over the many houses between it and Ori. It is all alight, the sides of light stone polished to a mirror finish so that it glows like magic, but whereas everyone, even Jori, seemed to look at it with wonder, Ori dreaded going back in. 

“Come visit,” Ori pleads on impulse. “Please, you know you'll be welcome, and Fíli remembers you fondly.” 

It stings, and it should not, but it must show in his face, because his normally cheerful cousin turns serious. He looks at Ori, a dark brow raised, the place where it is pierced by a fine gold bar puckering the skin, before he says, “I never invited your intended to my bed, Ori, and he never came. I would have told you, you know that. And I never would have anyway. He was yours.” 

“I know,” Ori says to the street, ashamed of doubting his own cousin. “I know, I just...Dori put some thoughts into my head. He means well, I know, but he keeps trying to make me see things where they are not, give me doubts.” 

Jori scoffs into his beard and shakes his head, the ornaments in it clinking together. “Dori means to make trouble, is what you mean to say. Aye, I thought that might happen, for all he might try to be reasonable about this whole mess. He wants someone to blame for him and Nori's own selfishness, wants it to be someone else's fault.” 

“Do not blame them,” Ori argues, shaking his own head. “Nori was afraid, and Dori...”

“Dori let his little brother be promised away in place of himself. Now, I'm not saying the old king was right. Maker knows he wasn't. Dori was in mourning, for one, and more importantly Frerin had more bats than a belfry does flapping around in that head of his. But he wasn't completely blameless either. I suppose he was hoping Fíli or Kíli would at least be sane, be kind.” Ori doesn't like hearing Jori put blame on Dori, though he knows his eldest brother does carry a small bit of it in this débâcle. He doesn't protest, doesn't say anything in Dori's defence, and he should, he should, because this is Frerin's fault if it's anyone's.

He just wishes Dori would stop trying to force Ori to hate Fíli, to doubt him. 

“Listen to me, Ori,” Jori says, taking Ori by the back of the neck and forcing their foreheads to meet. “Fíli is a good, fair Dwarf. I don't give a tinker's damn what Dori thinks of him. That old goat doesn't even like me, and I'm _respectable_.” 

“You're really not,” Ori reminds him miserably. “And Dori says you're going to get in trouble if you keep sleeping with everyone who whistles at you.” 

“ _Dori says_ ,” Jori mocks, releasing Ori with a smirk. “Dori can go suck a troll's cock for all I care. I've got more wealth than he'll ever see, and I'm prettier besides.” He looks as though he might say more, but then his shoulders straighten and he stands up to his full height, looking at someone over Ori's shoulder. 

When Ori turns, he sees who would make Jori stop slouching; three Elves are walking towards them. Two of the Wood Elves are pale, very much so, and so tall Ori has to crane his neck a bit as they come closer. One is a woman, he realizes, though it hard to tell with their sort, with hair as red as Dori's once was. The other two are blond, their hair as light as sun-bleached straw. 

They mean to walk past the pair of them, but one of the blonds stops, and looks down at Ori, his brow pinched in thought. “I know you,” he says, and Ori recognizes him as the youngest Elf prince, Legolas. “You are the Crown Prince's husband, are you not?” 

“I am,” Ori confirms, and now the other two Elves stand on either side of Legolas and respectfully bow at the waist. “I'm so sorry, have I missed your arrival?” 

“You did,” Legolas says, but he's smiling. “Do not worry over it. I avoid them at all costs, but alas, Cevon caught us attempting to sneak out.” 

“Caught you, you mean,” the other blond mutters, sounding put out. 

Legolas does not seem upset by the jab, instead continuing to smile down at Ori in a pleasant way. “Did you have business in the city? Your husband made some kind of allusion to it, but I could not tell if even he knew.” 

Likely Fíli had barely heard Ori this morning, still half-asleep and anxious besides. “I was visiting my cousin. He is welcoming a child into the world come next autumn.” 

“That is cause for a visit,” Legolas replies agreeably. “My blessings to his wife.” 

“Wife?” Jori questions, raising an eyebrow. “No, our cousin is the one bearing the babe.” 

Ori feels his face redden as all three of the Elves make strange faces, clearly confused. He has travelled enough with Nori to know the gift of Mahal is not one shared amongst the other peoples of Middle Earth, and it's not well known outside of their mountains. 

However, Legolas' face smooths, and he leans over his companions' ears, one at a time, whispering something Ori cannot hear. Whatever it is, it makes both of them raise their eyebrows in surprise, but they don't say anything. Legolas' smile comes back, a touch embarrassed maybe, Ori cannot quite tell, and says, “Forgive me. Gimli has told me of this once before, but I had forgotten. My best wishes to your cousin, and congratulations to his husband.” 

“We thank you,” Jori says, though he is still giving Ori a funny look. Ori shakes his head at him, and Jori rolls his eyes, but lets it go. “Ori, send me a missive with the day, and we'll have tea, all right? Just don't have Dori there as well.” He nods his head in respect to Ori's position, then leaves them all, disappearing down the steps, whistling again. 

The unknown blond Elf seems to be a bit restless, but the redhead looks interested in Ori. She bends again so that they're closer to eye level, studying him a touch like adults had looked at him when he was a child. “You're young to be married, aren't you? Your beard is still short.” 

Ori blinks, surprised that she can tell. She must have served closely with a few Dwarfs in the war. “I am of age by only a few months, but I am an adult.” He is a bit young to be married, as is Fíli, but it's not too unusual in Dwarf culture. He understands that Elves wait a very long time after they become adults to be married though. “I am Ori, son of Glori. May I ask who you are known as?” 

“Who she is known as...?” the unknown blond asks quietly, while the redhead smiles at Ori in a confused sort of way.

“A Dwarf never gives their true name,” Legolas tells them both, revealing more to Ori than he should. Ori had misspoke, forgetting for a brief moment all of their differences. “They're called by their outer names. That's what he means, is all.” Legolas is an Elf. Legolas should not know that. 

He remembers how upset Fíli had been over Legolas and his friendship with Gimli, and he realizes suddenly just what that “friendship” is, exactly.

“I am known as Tauriel,” the redhead says, still smiling, and Ori forces himself to smile back at her. “And you of course know his highness, Prince Legolas. This is our friend, Miro.” She indicates the unknown Elf, who, while as blond as Legolas, has very green eyes and skin the same dark shade as Jori's, unlike the almost ghostly Elven prince. “We are honoured to be so welcome in your city. Rare is the place where we are given a house of our own, and rooms in a lord's own home to a visiting royal.” 

They must have been given one of the empty houses near the palace, and Ori might just guess as to what lord had opened his home to the Elves. Fíli will be so upset, of that he has no doubt, and Ori makes a note to see if the tension returns to his back. He cannot afford to be in any sort of pain while the Elves are visiting. It will make him impatient, and that will not do at all, not when Ori needs these Elves to like them. 

“What a pretty piece,” the third Elf, Miro, complimenting Ori's shawl. “Wherever did you get it?”

“It was a marriage gift,” Ori says, shaking his head. “And I'm afraid the cousin who could have told you the name of the trader just left us. I could ask him though, if you like it.” 

“No,” Miro replies, seeming regretful. “I'd have no use for it, unfortunately. It would end p tangled in some tree somewhere, and then I would be put out over the loss. It is lovely though. A fine gift for a marriage.” He frowns, and looks at his companions before looking back down at Ori. “Is blue good luck amongst your people as well?” 

Ori frowns, and shakes his head. “No, not exactly. It is the colour of Durin's line though, my husband's family, and some consider that good luck.” 

“How sweet of you, to wear his colours,” Tauriel praises, and Legolas smiles as well.

His braids are very complicated, for an Elf. An inverted baker's braid that seems to join at the back. Elves do not usually wear anything more complicated than a simple fishtail or three-strand plait. A Dwarf though, a Dwarf would wear such a braid if they were an archer, or a runner, as Elves are known to be. 

Ori sighs inwardly, and wonders if Fíli will be upset tonight. 

“I honour him as my husband,” Ori says to Tauriel, and finds himself being guided along with them into the neighbourhood. “Are the three of you on your way to your house?” Speaking to Elves this tall is very strange. He has to tip his head back a bit more than is comfortable. Gimli is taller than him though. Maybe he finds it easier. 

“We are, as a matter of fact. We ended up a bit lost though, and that's how you came upon us. We thought we might get some fresh air before admitting defeat and finding our way back to the palace.” They meant to go to the neighbourhood park, then. It's a nice one, built between being within the mountain and outside of it, and Ori has walked there once or twice.

Elves are very fond of sunshine and fresh air, he remembers, so of course they would enjoy some. Ori himself does as well, in a very unbecoming way. He's spent so long travelling with Nori, sleeping under nothing but the sky or the branches of the trees, that he thinks of it in a much fonder way than many. 

“There are terrace gardens amongst the houses here,” Ori says, as they all walk. “I'm sure the king would have thought of that when he gave you one.” 

“I would not think Dwarves were interested in that sort of thing,” Tauriel says, not in a mean way, merely curious. 

“Some are,” Ori replies, drawing his shawl a bit tighter when it loosens as they walk up another flight of stairs, so they can cross the bridge over the steam of snow melt. It's only meant to be pretty, the bottom a mosaic of gemstones that catch the light and turn it sparkling, but once it reaches the park, it's very lovely indeed. The sunshine is better than the lamplight, in Ori's opinion, though he wouldn't say that aloud. “They're not the sort of gardens you're used to though. There's very little greenery, though some like to grow herbs, or vegetables. Useful things, you know. They're usually full of statues and designs, nothing you would like.”

“Do not tar us all with the same brush!” Tauriel exclaims cheerfully. “Elves might appreciate the skill that goes into your favoured arts just as well as you do, though I do not claim we have the same talents your people do. Indeed, I admire your art more than ours, though these two might raise their eyebrows at me, do not think I do not see the pair of you.” She glares playfully at Legolas and Miro. “I am impressed by your art, actually. I have never thought of stone as a living thing until I came here, and saw how your people shape it.” 

Ori's face warms, and he looks away from the lady. “We do not create the images, my lady, merely show them for all to see.” 

Tauriel laughs, and places her slim hand on Ori's shoulder in her friendly way.

“Do not assume, Tauriel,” Legolas says, looking ahead. “I have never seen anyone who can outdo a Dwarf when it comes to their arts. What we do is merely poor imitation by comparison.” 

“You are kind,” Ori says, pleased at their compliments. “Now, where is it you three are attempting to find, so I might help you?” 

Miro rolls his eyes, and says, “Elven places are not arranged as yours, and that is how we became so lost. We are looking for a place called Spinel Court, and these two are the poorest scouts I have ever travelled with, for they would have led us to Dale itself before asking for help.”

Ori laughs, and Miro glares at Legolas and Tauriel over his head. “You are very lost! Spinel Court is near the palace!” 

“I knew we should have accepted the guide,” Miro grumbles, while the other two seem sheepish. “No, these two insisted on having a walk around the neighbourhood, and Legolas was sure he knew where his friend lived.” 

“I thought I did,” Legolas mutters, and gets an elbow in his side from his friend. “Erebor is much more complicated than I remember.” 

“Everywhere is much more complicated than you remember.” Miro sounds very put out, and Ori does not blame him, poor creature. Elves never need to sleep much, in his experience with the Elves he and Nori had travelled with with, but they still needed to sleep or at least rest at some point. “Exactly how far are we from our destination, my lord?”

To be addressed in such a way by anyone makes Ori blush, and he shakes his head vehemently. “Oh please, no. My family are weavers and artisans by trade. Call me Ori, please, or I will never know who you are speaking to.” 

Miro seems perturbed by Ori's words, but he still nods, and says, “As you wish, Ori.” 

“Thank you,” Ori says gratefully. “And you are about a twenty minute walk, I'm afraid. You've gone very far.” 

“Of course we have.” Miro glares at the other two, but says nothing else on the subject.

Instead, the four of them speak of art, and it makes Ori happy. He has not been at his guild in a long time now, and it's nice to talk about something he actually knows about. The Elves ask about the various types of stone and the artisans who work on them, and Ori answer cheerily, asking questions of his own about the paints that Erebor can expect to arrive in the next caravan. 

“If we had known you wanted paints, we would have sent them with the tea your husband requested,” Legolas says, and Ori blushes before he can stop himself. He had suspected Fíli of bringing the rose tea Ori so liked to the table. “Our artists have made many blues and violets this season, actually. I'll write and have some sent here for you.” 

“I would appreciate that,” Ori says, smiling. “No, I would be very happy to receive blues and violets, now that I can have them. Thank you so much for the thought.”

Legolas smiles, and Ori supposes he is handsome in the way of Elves. “I would be happy to please a cousin of Gimli's in such a way.” 

“I'm sure you would,” Tauriel says, not quite low enough that Ori does not catch it, and it confirms what he suspects. It's meant as little more than teasing amongst friends, judging from the tone, but why would she tease if there wasn't a reason? No wonder Fíli had said it would make him angry to discuss Legolas and Gimli. What Dwarf would like to talk about his dearest cousin having too close of a tie to an Elf? Especially one of Legolas' rank?

They're all close to where they should be now, and Ori tells them so as he leads them onto the correct street. The town houses here are pretty, made of many different stones so as to distinguish themselves, and Ori inquires as to the house number they are seeking before they go much further. When Tauriel and Miro see where they are meant to stay, they seem impressed.

“It's so pretty,” Tauriel says, seemingly without thinking. “What a lovely colour.”

“There's crystal embedded in the stone to catch the light,” Ori explains, before they think too much of it. “There are many houses like it.”

“Not where we are from, there are not,” Miro confides, as a servant opens the door, bowing deep in subservience to them all, but Legolas and Ori especially. “And your servants are much different than ours.”

Before the servant might be offended or worse, afraid, Ori says, “I've understood that my people are more aware of the differences between the ranks than yours. They only mean respect to you.” 

“I know,” Miro says, nodding back at the servant, now looking a bit distressed. “Pray, do not take offence, yes?” this he says to the servant. “Only no one has ever bowed to me in all my life. I meant no harm, only astonishment that any would think me worthy of such deference.”

Both the servant and Ori are pleased. Rare is the Elf who will show such respect to a Dwarf or their customs. Thranduil chose well with Miro.

“You've had a long journey, my lords, my lady. Would any of you like a bath?” the servant offers, and Miro visibly brightens.

“I would, thank you kindly!” he exclaims, smiling in the wide way Elves did. “Very hot water, if you can. I am grateful, thank you.” 

Both Tauriel and Miro bow to Ori in their good-byes. “I hope to see you again, our friend,” Tauriel says, as Miro makes for his promised bath. “You're a fun little thing, and I fear there are few willing to be so merry with my kind here in your mountain.”

Ori grins at her, his shawl tight between his fingers. “I will visit you as soon as I might,” he promises, and gets what he thinks is a genuine smile in return. 

This leaves him with Legolas, who he leads a bit further down, to the house Gimli is staying in. Ori has never considered the idea of living away from his family before this, but now that he thinks on it, it is so appealing. He will have to ask Gimli when the time is right how it is, if it is more troublesome than it is worth. He thinks Gimli likes him, or rather hopes. He might only be nice for Fíli's sake, but then he might be honest to Ori's questioning. Fíli might be happier with a little distance between himself and his family.

Last night had been so tense between them all, Ori's elder brothers and Fíli's mother. No one had come out the winner of that mess. Worse, Ori thinks he might have seen the fissures between the princess and Fíli, the ones their marriage had caused. He does not like being the cause of strife. 

“You and Gimli became close in the war,” Ori says, to make conversation.

“We did,” Legolas confirms, his hands clasped behind his back. “He made it difficult, but I was no better. Unfortunately for the pair of us, we had too much in common to be denied, and we were forced to admit we were friends before long.”

“And after you were friends?” Ori asks, not to be cruel, only to ask, and Legolas smirks. 

“I have given myself away, haven't I? I'm too eager to see him, and I suppose your husband has confided in you his misgivings. Gimli will have course told his cousin. He told me he would have to eventually.” Legolas does not seem too upset, at least.

“Fíli only hinted. I worked it out for myself.” Ori does not say when he worked it out, too prideful in his own way. Being somewhat clever is all he has, after all. “Many members of my family went to war, you know. I'm not ignorant of how it strips you of your prejudices, allows you to see people as they really are. Love them better for it.” He stutters a bit, embarrassed. The last war had not only allowed him to see his then mysterious intended as he was, but for Shiori to see Hrafn for all he was worth. 

Hrafn had served without being called to arms, and Ori thinks that was what had finally won Shiori over completely. The idea of someone who had done what had to be done without being told to, of that same person offering what Shiori would truly desire a s courting gift, that had given Hrafn the edge none of Shiori's other suitors had. 

Ori thinks of Jomshi again, and smiles to himself. Jom and his pearls, offering things when he could not offer a valuable person. 

“Gimli writes that you are a bookish sort,” Legolas says. “He admires that. I think you and he might be great friends before long. He loves books, as do I. I cannot always be with him, of course. I would like it if he had a friend here that he could share that with.”

It goes unsaid that he means a married friend. Ori had not known an Elf could be jealous like this, but he supposes it makes sense. Legolas is gone from Gimli's side for long lengths of time, and he would be anxious of unattached sorts lingering around Gimli. Ori is married to someone Gimli would never hurt though, so he is a perfectly safe friend. 

“You must miss him very much,” Ori says politely.

“More than you know,” Legolas replies, as they reach the steps of the house number he gave Ori. There's a servant half-asleep on the steps, who springs to attention when Ori coughs.

“Your highness,” she says, bowing deep. “We expected you a bit sooner. His Lordship bid me to wait for you, as he is a bit dull as of now. Allow me to show you inside, please.” She does not recognise Ori for a moment, but once she does, her face reddens all the more. “My apologies, your highness. Please, his Lordship would welcome you too, and gladly.” 

Ori has no desire to be in the way, so he shakes his head and declines her offer. He turns up to Legolas though, and says, “I would like to visit you on the morrow though, if you do not mind. I have matters I wish to discuss with you.”

Legolas frowns, and nods. “If you like, of course. I'll ask Gimli when he can stand company. It seems he's ill.” He raises his eyebrows somewhat mockingly, and Ori smiles.

“He and the younger prince thought that sitting out in the cold all night was a good plan,” Ori says, relaying what Fíli had told him the day before. 

The Elf prince does not seem surprised. “Of course he did. Ridiculous creature. I assume your prince was not with them only because of lack of opportunity?” 

“He had to be up early, and he turned in early. He shows sense, my husband.” It's said without thinking, and Ori wishes he could take it back when Legolas smiles at him in a conspiratorial way. 

“Spoken like a lover.” Legolas nods at him, bowing deeper than he should, considering his station, and follows the still half-asleep servant into the house. 

Alone on the street, Ori briefly covers his mouth with his hands.

What is Fíli doing to him, to his mind? 

To his heart?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please forgive me this weirdness and stay with me, I beg of you.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More kingdoms are built on idle conversation and plans than war. People have been put to death for looking at a prince wrong. 
> 
> Erebor is no exception to some rules, but perhaps Fíli is the exception to others.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love you all for sticking by me. I never expected so much support, but most have you have been very easy-going about this madness of mine, and I appreciate it. (That Gimli/Legolas aside and I are fighting it out, as an X-Men fic I must update soon battles me at every turn.)

Fíli waits until after they have greeted the Elves before he walks with Thorin to the Grievances Hall, and asks, “Would you mind if I lived outside the palace?” If Thorin does mind, there's little Fíli might do, but he could at least move Ori out and work it out from there. “Only...”

“Only you do not like your husband here with Frerin,” Thorin finishes for him, his hands clasped behind his back as he strolls along, looking out onto the courtyard with vague interest. “Or you do not want your mother hovering...?” It's not so much the words, so much as Thorin's hopeful tone and the arch of his eyebrow that tells Fíli just what his uncle is asking. 

“You and my mother have rather too much interest in my marriage,” Fíli remarks dryly, and his uncle chuckles. “Besides, the way Kíli is going, I'll have no shortage of potential heirs. I would not be surprised if there were not already a brother-child or three running around Erebor.” His little brother is charming, and he's never wanted for company, not that Fíli faults him for it. If he does have any children, no one has ever claimed it, and Kíli would have told him, Fíli strongly feels. “Which would you prefer, a daughter or a son? I am sure he might pick and choose as he pleases.” 

“Your brother is not an idiot, no matter how he behaves,” Thorin says, though he's smiling in good humour. “He is not so foolish as to make any children without claiming them. The more of Durin's line there are, the safer, in my opinion. I'm not sure Kíli could keep a secret if he wanted to, in any case.”

Fíli cannot disagree, and he smiles as well. His brother would tell everyone who would hold still long enough to listen if he had managed to sire a child of his own, that much is true. It's a nice idea, really. He and Ori have not spoken on this, and Fíli does not want to assume it's what Ori wants. He's not even sure it's what he wants, not just yet at least. They're both very young, and things are still somewhat tumultuous here in Erebor. 

He hasn't been very careful, has he? He hasn't been careful at all, and neither has Ori. Several times now, he's finished inside of Ori. Ori has allowed him though, has not told him to stop, and Fíli is sure Ori trusts him enough in bed to have done so if he was really against the idea. Well, he hopes as much. 

“What about you, Fíli?” Thorin asks, now looking ahead. “Would you prefer a son or a daughter, if you might chose such a thing?” 

“I do not know much about girls, I confess,” Fíli says, shrugging. “I've had no sisters, no female friends. I'd probably be better with a son. If I were to have a daughter, I am sure I would be a terrible father. I would not know how to say no to her, and she would grow up to be a spoiled creature of no use to anyone.” 

“From what I understand, daughters are the same as sons.” Thorin does not sound regretful, but Fíli supposes he wouldn't. His first uncle had helped raise him up just as much as either of his parents, perhaps more so than his own father. He's had children, in his own way, and has not missed the experience. More than that, Fíli does not believe his uncle has ever once aspired to make a child. “You teach them, treat them well, and attempt not to ruin them.” 

Fíli again shrugs, and Thorin drops the subject, changing it for one just as uncomfortable. “Was it my imagination, or did the youngest prince seem very eager to see Gimli?” When Fíli says nothing, too afraid to lie, his first uncle sighs in a very weary way. “Glóin bid me to forbid Legolas from any interaction with Gimli. It is within my power, of course, but I have no desire to do it. Such a friendship is invaluable to Erebor. For Glóin to ask me such a thing though, it gave me pause.”

“Did it?” Fíli is not sure what to say, not sure Thorin wants him to say anything at all. 

“I am not adept at reading people,” Thorin says, “Nor will I pretend I am. But even I had my suspicions. Their friendship is close. Very close. War did to them what it does to everyone I have ever known, and stripped them of any illusions they had been told as children. They stopped seeing one another as Dwarf and Elf, am I wrong?” 

“You are not.” Fíli will not outright lie to Thorin. He is incapable of it. “Gimli has confided the truth in me, and Glóin is perhaps not wrong to be afraid.” Afraid of who his beloved son has given his heart away to, afraid that Gimli might just shuck his titles and responsibilities and find his happiness where he will. Fíli does not doubt Gimli's love for himself, for the bond between them, but nor does he doubt Gimli's love for Legolas. 

Not any more, not after seeing Legolas' pretty braids. Combined with Gimli's simple ones, it is damning to those who might suspect. 

“Is he?” Thorin has a sound to his voice Fíli has heard before, and he looks at his first uncle curiously. “Gimli has a brother and sister to continue his family's line, after all. And though it's been understood he has a small sort of promise with your brother, I could not deny that a marriage between the Elves and someone as close to the Crown as Gimli would be advantageous.” 

A small sort of promise indeed. It's always been understood that if Fíli were to die without an heir, Kíli and Gimli would wed, and sire children with willing bearers to raise as children of the Crown. Kíli is too sickly to be trusted as the guaranteed heir after Thorin, but Gimli is close enough and hale. It's always been understood, and Fíli does not doubt this was what Gimli feared Fíli might ask of him, but now Fíli looks at Thorin, hopeful, as his first uncle smirks. 

“ You would...allow it?” 

“I don't think I can allow something that has already happened,” Thorin says with something that sounds very much like amusement, and when Fíli looks at him, he sees it in his first uncle's face. “War is a funny thing, Fíli. You see, kingdoms always have allies. And when we fall to war and our allies come to our side, sometimes, we might hate half the battalion we serve with and like half the battalion we fight beside, and slowly, war teaches us that it is the way of things.” 

Fíli waits for his uncle to continue, not quiet sure he understands what Thorin is getting at. 

“We like who we like, Fíli. We get along with some and not with others. War strips us of caring about anything but that. Gimli and Legolas found that when what they were was taken away, they liked who they were just fine.” Thorin exhales hard, and Fíli sees the indecision in his face. “I will not pretend to be a great lover of the Elves. I fear our peoples are doomed to never be truly friends. An alliance though, between two such kingdoms...” 

His first uncle is thinking of political ramifications that Fíli had never even considered. He still does not believe that their peoples will ever truly trust one another, but if one of their own nobles is married to the beloved youngest son, then they will have bought themselves a much sturdier alliance for as long as Gimli lives. 

“I do not know that Gimli would like his great romance turned into a marriage of political convenience,” Fíli cautions, but Thorin scoffs at that.

“Gimli chose to involve himself with an Elf when I could choose to try him with breaking promises to the Crown. He will take what I give him, and he'll do it without complaint.” Thorin has the sound of finality to his voice, so Fíli nods in agreement. There's nothing else he can do for Gimli at this point, and really, his little cousin had better be grateful for this much.

“I will speak with Gimli as soon as possible,” Fíli replies, earning Thorin's approving smile. “Besides, it might even please Thranduil if his hatred of Elrond runs deep enough. He will have the advantage. You know how Thranduil feels about having an advantage.” 

Thorin shakes his head in annoyance, as they round a corner, the great arch of the Grievances Hall ahead of them. The arch is older than Thorin's own grandfather, carved of plain back stone, with the words, May all voices be heard in the chorus inscribed along the top in straight-backed runes. It is not Fíli's favourite place, but he doesn't think it has ever been any king's. For every one true complaint, there were two dozen full of nothing but wounded pride, and they had to listen to them all. 

There was a queue already waiting for Thorin, and his first uncle drew back in readiness as they approached. 

“Speaking of Elrond,” Fíli says, before they come within earshot of anyone, “When will his party arrive? Do you know?”

“They sent us a missivee when they docked.” They step through the arch, and up the steps to the throne Thorin sits on in this hall. It's far plainer than the one in the throne room, but far more comfortable in Fíli's opinion. “They'll be here before the week is out, depending on the weather, and then we will have far too many Elves in Erebor for my taste.” 

“Let us hope we do not have a war in Erebor's own halls as well,” Fíli jokes, but judging from his uncle's stony expression, it is not funny. He supposes it's not, though it seemed to be for a moment. The last thing Erebor needs is to be responsible in any way for some Elf's death. And what if it's Legolas or Cevon hurt? Thranduil would tear the world to pieces for his children, Fíli is sure, and that includes Erebor. 

His uncle sits, and Fíli takes his place on Thorin's right. 

Balin has been waiting it seems, because he gives them both an impatient sort of look before he announces the first Dwarf to be heard for the day. 

Thorin listens to the Dwarf, while Fíli tries desperately not to seem bored until he can make his excuses. He needs to visit Gimli today, and hopefully Gimli is ill enough that Fíli does not interrupt any sort of enthusiastic reunion between him and his Elf. He, and far too many servants, have already had the unfortunate pleasure of walking in on Kíli and whoever he had most recently seduced. 

By the time they get to the fourth Dwarf, Fíli thinks he might be able to leave, and he glances around the room to judge the mood of the room. 

He's surprised to find a now-familiar figure amongst the ones sitting in the balcony: Nori. Ori's elder brother's braids are different from how they were last night, showing off the length of his hair now with the long braids he's wearing over his shoulders to rest against the sides of his beard. He's a handsome Dwarf, Fíli observes, as he did last night. 

He is watching Fíli now, but Fíli is too far away to see his expression. Likely unhappy, if he had to guess. Fíli's not happy about last night either.

Even though last night, Ori had finally told him the way of things, pulling his shawl over his head so pointedly. And after Fíli knew the way of things, Ori had still encouraged him down on the rugs and furs by the hearth, had all but begged Fíli to have him there, had not told Fíli to pull out before he finished. 

Does Ori want a child? And if he does, why? For the sake of the Crown, to ensure his place by Fíli's side? Or does he simply want a child? Is Fíli an asset or a deterrent in that decision? Does Ori want to carry Fíli's child? 

Does Fíli want a child?

He doesn't know, honestly. They're both still so young, and for all Fíli knows, he'd be a terrible parent. Kíli would likely be a better one, so perhaps Fíli should simply name whatever child was first sired and claimed by his brother as his own heir and be done with it. Fíli isn't even sure he likes children. He's never been around any for an extended period of time. 

Nori tilts his head, and Fíli frowns. The Dwarf must know that Fíli is looking at him. There's no one else in the balcony who would catch his attention. So when Nori again tilts his head, more decisively, Fíli realizes he's trying to tell Fíli something. To move to the side? Why?

Now Nori rises, and begins to move in the direction he indicated, leaving Fíli to curse whoever had convinced him he was somewhat clever over the years. He leans down, over his uncle's ear, and says, “Ori's second brother wishes to have a conversation with me. Would you mind my absence?” 

“See what he wants,” Thorin grants, his eyes flicking up to the balcony. “And keep your wits about you. Dwalin says he only appears harmless.” There's a heavy warning in that. Dwalin is not often impressed, and he's not the sort of Dwarf to let his own heart manipulate the truth. Well, Fíli doesn't think he is. 

He nods, and takes his leave of the hall, using the exit on the second story that Nori had. It leads into a smaller hallway, something between a true passage and one for servants. It's usually empty, and it is now as well. Nori is waiting for Fíli in it, leaning against the wall with his eyes closed, weary. Or hungover. Probably the latter. 

“What would you like to accuse me of today?” Fíli asks, as cheerfully as he can manage. It gets him a look from Nori that could turn the whole lake into a sheet of ice, but Fíli's faced worse over the years. 

“You are a strange creature, oh Lion Prince.” Nori sounds amused in a bitter sort of way. 

Fíli frowns. “Have I gained a new name when I wasn't looking? Only one person ever called me that before.” 

“Yes, and he's decided to call you that to all who will listen. I would not protest. Better than the name your brother has earned himself.” He smirks in an ugly way, and continues. “The Sheepdog Prince, since it seems no one ever taught him how to braid his hair.” 

Clearly, Nori expects this to be an insult, a jab at a beloved brother, but Fíli snickers loudly, and Nori's confusion darts across his face. “And who would dare call the second prince of Erebor such a name? Could it perhaps be the first prince?” Fíli and Gimli still called Kíli that, when he was looking particularly windswept and wild. “You'll have to try harder than that, Nori.” 

“Very well then,” Nori agrees, not pushing himself off the wall just yet. “How about _my_ little brother? Will that subject rile your temper at all?” 

Fíli is not sure what reaction Nori wants, so he settles for simply asking. “What is it you want of me, Nori? Truly? Do you want to see if I am ill-tempered? Or if you can force me to say some truth you believe I am hiding from Ori, so that you can whisper it in his ear, and keep him from ever trusting me?”

“Don't presume you ever had a chance of securing a place in Ori's heart, Fíli,” Nori warns, using Fíli's name for possibly the first time. 

“Is that what you're really afraid of?” Fíli demands, glancing around to ensure they are still alone. “That you'll lose your place? That he'll favour me over you?” Even Fíli has some cruelty in him, and his earlier thoughts combined with that flaw are what make him ask, “That he would favour our child over you?”

It gets a reaction, though more than Fíli expected. Nori _shoves_ him, actually puts both hands against Fíli's chest and pushes hard enough Fíli loses his footing and hits the opposite wall. He stares in shock, but doesn't get much time, because Nori is crowding into his space, his face twisted in fury. He's a smaller Dwarf, only as tall as Ori, but he's got power in his limbs that Fíli should have expected. 

“Do not make jokes about things you will never understand!”

“Are you actually mad?!” Fíli demands, struggling to free himself. “Putting your hands on me is treason, whether or not your brother is my husband! Do not forget your precarious position in all of this!” 

“Your position is no less precarious,” Nori hisses, releasing him. “Do you think I'm an idiot? I'm not Dori, I am not blinded by my own hate. I saw how you looked at him last night. I've seen how you look at him when you think no one else is around.” He is still very close, but he's not touching Fíli now, probably for the best. The threat in his words, the idea that Fíli and Ori have not been truly alone at times, it's treason far beyond Nori's actions, and it makes Fíli's blood rise. “Do you think my little brother loves you? That he shows interest in your swords because he's interested in you? That he shows you his books because he wants to share with you?” His voice drops, and he smirks. “Do you believe he spreads his legs for you because he desires you? That he gives you your privileges because he wants to carry a child of yours?” 

Fíli's temper grows while his heart sinks down, Nori's words twisting around his happiness and ruining it. “Be silent,” he orders. 

“No,” Nori refuses. “Because you see, there was once another Golden Prince of Erebor, and he silenced me. He took away my family, my love, and he stole from me. He stole something your family can never return to me, no matter how much coin you give us in payment. And then you added insult to injury, and you took the last thing I truly loved.” 

“You are mad,” Fíli sneers. “And selfish besides. Ori is not a thing, and if he likes me, if he enjoys my company, that's for him to decide, not you. You might be half the cause of it, but you are not involved in our marriage, however it might be.” 

Nori means to say something else, but Fíli is done; he draws one of his falchions in warning, the tip a few inches from Nori's body. “Ori loves you,” Fíli says. “He loves you enough to marry someone he did not know and had every reason to fear. So here's a thought for you, if you're so very clever: respect him and his choices as much as you love him, as much as he loves you, or you and I are going to come to blows again, and let me assure you, Nori,” Fíli's sword comes closer, and he sees the wariness in Nori's eyes, “I am not the prince the last golden prince was, idle and weak. I am the Lion Prince, as you said, Fíli Twoswords, and I have killed more than you can imagine. The next time you commit treason such as this, I will not hesitate, no matter what it means for Ori and me.” 

He means it in this moment, but even he knows he would never follow through. Nori knows the way of things, knows what Fíli has not yet admitted to himself when it comes to Ori. 

“I am sorry for what Frerin did,” Fíli concedes, sheathing the weapon again. “For the pain he caused you, for every injury. I am sorry because it happened, sorry because I share blood with him, but I was a child when it occurred. I had no hand in it, and neither did Ori.” There's a sound, and when he looks up, Dwalin is coming into the hall from the opposite end. 

When he sees the two of them together, he frowns deeply, and Fíli notes that when he comes to them, he stands closer to Nori. He means to protect Nori from Fíli if necessary, but maybe he also wishes to be able to restrain Nori. 

Dwalin studies Fíli's face for a long moment, not asking any questions aloud, but he looks down at Nori and asks, “What have you done, you mad little creature?” 

“Nothing,” Nori spits, but Dwalin stops him from stalking away with a hand wrapped around his arm. 

Nori looks up at him, frowning, but Dwalin's face is like stone. 

“He and I were arguing, but the matter is resolved,” Fíli says, already tired of this. “I must speak with Gimli.” It's the truth, and he has no doubt that Dwalin and Nori both want him gone as soon as possible. Just as Fíli does not want Nori involved in his marriage, he should not be involved in Nori's. 

“You require training today as well,” Dwalin reminds him. “I was observing you with Gimli the other day. You have grown sloppy. You will be in the training yard at the fourth bell, or I will come look for you, and drag you from Ori's arms if I must.” 

He's teasing, but Nori chuckles quietly to himself. “Why do you seek to rub salt in my wounds?” 

Dwalin sighs, and looks down at Nori. In one look, Fíli sees more than he should, more than either Dwalin or Nori would ever want him to. More than anyone should see between two like them. 

Nori reaches up, and touches Dwalin's face, turning it down towards him. “You will be the end of me as I am.” It's intimate, and Fíli takes that as his cue to leave. 

He does see Dwalin turn towards Nori's palm, knows he kisses it even when his back is turned from the pair of them. At the end of the hall, Dwalin's voice carries to Fíli's good ear, the words sweeter than any Fíli has ever heard Dwalin say, any he ever thought the veteran soldier capable of. “Only if I might end with you, my love.”

He needs to see Gimli, that much is true, but he decides to give his little cousin a bit more time with Legolas. It has not been that long since the youngest prince and the other two Elves had left the palace in want of a walk and their waiting guest quarters. 

When he enters his rooms though, he's surprised to find Ori there, removing his shawl. Again, the blue one, and it stirs something in Fíli he is not ready to face. 

“Fíli,” he sounds pleased, and it makes Fíli come forward, cup his face and kiss him. When he cannot use it as an excuse any longer, he rests his head against Ori's for a long moment, enjoying him for just another few breaths before he separates them and puts distance between them. “What's wrong?”

He wants to lie, but he knows if he does, Nori will twist it, make it worse. He has to tell the truth, and now, before anything seems like a secret. 

“Your second brother confronted me,” he confesses, and looks away so that he doesn't have to see how Ori's face falls. “Outside the Grievances Hall. He put his hands upon me, and I -”

He's surprised by how Ori grabs him, looking at him with wide eyes. “Please, don't,” he pleads, before Fíli can say anything else. “Exile him again, or allow him to escape as your uncle did, but please, I'm begging you -”

“He's unharmed,” Fíli assures him, turning to cover Ori's hands with his own. “I mean to say we had an argument, and I lost my temper. I drew on him, and I threatened his life if he ever touched me as he did again, but I did not harm him. I left him with Dwalin. I do not intend to ever harm him. I said things in anger I did not mean, and I do not want you to think I would really hurt him. I won't, I swear to you. He said things...I lost my temper. I'm sorry for it.”

Ori stares up at him, and Fíli is not sure what to say to the confusion in his face. The relief is better understood, and the way Ori rests his temple against Fíli's shoulder is a relief to him as well. “I knew you would never,” Ori says into Fíli sleeve. “I knew I was right, I did, I knew they were lying.” He rises on tiptoe and kisses Fíli on the cheek, inspiring Fíli to seize him by the waist, bury his face in Ori's neck and breathe deep. “You are a good prince, Fíli. You are _my_ prince.”

“I have no desire to be anyone else's,” Fíli replies, holding him close.

The clock strikes two before Fíli thinks to rouse himself from their bed. The bedclothes have been laundered this morning, for they smell of perfume, and that causes Fíli a bit of guilt for wasting the work. It does not stop him from enjoying the feel of Ori pressed to his side beneath them, dozing with his head on Fíli's shoulder. 

He drags his fingers through Ori's hair, his bitten-down nails scraping Ori's scalp. Ori makes a content noise, and burrows further into Fíli's side. 

“Do you want children?” Fíli asks idly, and feels Ori sigh. 

“I don't know. Perhaps, one day.” There's a chill in the room without the fire, and Ori shivers, so Fíli pulls him in yet closer. “I met Legolas properly today. I ran into him by accident when I was walking with Jori, along with his companions. They all liked me, I think. Or at least found me interesting. Elves can be strange like that.”

“What do you mean?” 

“To live for so long, I think it turns them a bit funny. They have a difficult time relating to mortals. They do not want to relate, really, because then they care for us, as anyone will care for a companion, and they have to watch us waste away while they remain the same forever.” He sounds oddly sympathetic towards them, but Fíli supposes it makes sense. Ori did travel with Elves at some points in his life, after all. “These Elves are not like that, from what I could see. The female, Tauriel, she's very open and eager. She must have served with mortals in wars, I think. I have promised to visit her and the other one, Miro, as well. Hopefully we will be friends before long.” 

Fíli makes a considering noise, looking up at the canopy. “And you and Legolas?”

“I wish you had confided in me about him and Gimli,” Ori says, the note of a sulk in his voice, even as Fíli turns to him in surprise. “I did not like being caught off-guard when I realized it. I understand why you did not though. He is your cousin and you love him.” He squirms, and comes somehow even closer, like he's trying to leech off Fíli's warmth.

Fíli laughs to himself, and pulls the covers up over them further. “I thought you said you had been cold plenty of times?”

“That did not mean that I liked it,” Ori says, a bit waspishly. “Legolas likes me as well, but I am not sure he likes me as a friend for himself, or merely a safe friend for Gimli. We will see. I like him so far, so perhaps we will yet be friends.”

“What do you mean, a safe friend?” 

Ori sits up a bit so he can look down at Fíli with a raised eyebrow. “If you were away for long periods of time, who would you trust to be my friend in your absence?”

“Someone I knew would never betray me or you,” Fíli answers, nodding. “I see your meaning, and his if you're right. I would trust Gimli as your companion in kind. I know where his heart lies.” He frowns though, and presses a kiss to Ori's hair. “I suppose that is something we should discuss though.”

“I thought we were talking about Legolas?” 

“We are, I swear,” Fíli says, trying to stay on topic. “I mean to say, if we are separated for a long period of time, would you be...” Ori sits up and stares down at him, frowning deeply now. “I'm not saying that's what I want. Truthfully, I never seem to know what I want until I actually have it right in front of me. But I know you might grow lonely here if I am gone.” 

“What would keep you away for so long?” 

“War,” Fíli shrugs, as Ori lies back down. “Or things related to war. I could be sent to our settlement in Ered Luin, for example, far away in the Blue Mountains. That would keep me away for a year at least, if it needed my attention in the first place. Or I might have to travel to Lord Elrond's own home, or Thranduil's.”

“No, Kíli would be sent on those journeys,” Ori protests, and he's not wrong. Those tasks would be for Kíli. Only...

“Kíli would likely not survive such a long journey,” Fíli confides, and feels Ori's confusion. It will hurt nothing for Ori to know the truth, so Fíli continues. “Kíli came into this world too soon. My mother, she was so ill when she carried him. She very nearly left this world bringing him into it. She's never recovered, according to Dwalin. Thorin would never say such a thing, of course. But Kíli shows the signs of it even now. He was ill often as a baby, as I told you. He is weak.” 

“He is your little brother, and you're frightened he'll die before you're ready to face it,” Ori says, and Fíli feels frozen beneath him. “I did not know he was that bad.”

“Sometimes he appears fine. He went years without being ill once. He could keep pace with Gimli and me. We all thought he was better, that he had come to full health at last. Then the red fever came upon Erebor, and he slept for so long. I thought he was going to die. We all did. He did not, thank the Maker, but...”

Ori is quiet against him while he speaks, but when Fíli cannot say any more, Ori says, “I lost three adult cousins in my family, and seven children from our family, second-cousins. Two were only babies in their baskets. I was sick too, actually, but travelling with Nori got me sick a lot. My lungs were already strong, and I pulled through quickly. Dori only had a cough, and Nori was gone at the time.” 

“I was at war,” Fíli says. “The Battle of the Lake. I had more sudden things threatening my life.” 

They're both quiet now, Fíli lost in memories of the Lake, Ori, the gods know where. He is startled when Ori asks, “Is that why you are never seen in Dale? Because you do not like the Lake any more?” 

Fíli thinks of blood spilled in the water, like red clouds forming in the sky. He thinks of his sword sliding into a body, of how it had frightened him to know he was taking a life from the world, Orc or not. He will not say he saw the life fade from their eyes, merely that he saw the fear and the anger in their faces. Orcs fear death. Fíli had not known that until he sent one to theirs. He never thought about it before then. 

“Did you know that Orcs are scared to die?”

Ori snorts. “Fíli, no one wants to die. From the smallest mouse, to the Oliphaunts the Easterners command. No Dwarf, no Hobbit, nor Man. Even the Elves fear it. I am not surprised to hear an Orc afraid either.” 

“Elves are immortal.” 

“Elves fall to weapons as easily as we do. I have seen it.” So has Fíli, but he surprised to hear Ori say it. Before he can ask, Ori goes on. “I told you, the Elves we travelled with were considered bad luck. We were as well, because of how pale we were. One night, in a village of Men, the Men fell upon us while we were sleeping. Nori woke me, and we fought back. Nori is no swordsman, but his knives...he slit their throats. I was afraid, but I had a knife of my own, and I did not want to die. Once it was over, and the sun came up, I saw the dead. I saw so many of our friends, and they were dead. They were Elves and they were killed as easily as I would have been.”

“I'm sorry,” Fíli expresses, kissing him on the temple.

“I heard them cry in the darkness. Everyone fears death, Fíli.” 

Fíli holds him, and thinks of his own heart. “I would not leave you.” He again kisses Ori's head, and says, “I know you did not choose me, nor I you. But I care for you now, and I hope you care for me. You are mine and I am yours.” 

When Ori does not immediately answer, Fíli remembers Nori's words, and feels sick for them. 

“I care for you,” Ori breathes into Fíli's chest, and Fíli exhales at last, ducking his head so they can kiss properly. “I do not want companionship from another, if that's what you're worrying about.” This he says against Fíli mouth. “I feel your heart like I have never felt another's. I do not want to lay with anyone like I have before, not now. When you look at me, I feel the absence in what I had before. Those Dwarfs said they loved me, but now I think they only loved my face.” 

“I like your intelligence,” Fíli says. “Your kindness. Your empathy. Your sympathy.. I don't possess any of those things, I'm sorry to say.” 

“But you do,” Ori says, climbing on top of him. 

“And how have you determined that?”

“You're sorry you killed Orcs.” This he says with a kiss that has Fíli cupping his face, pulling him closer. “That's kind beyond what you realize. Empathetic as well. And you are intelligent, no matter what anyone ever told me. Although Kíli...”

“All right, you cannot talk about my brother when you are straddling me, naked. You just can't. I forbid it.” The thought of Kíli kills whatever might have been stirring again with Ori astride him like this. “And Kíli's far smarter than he lets on. He thinks if anyone knows just how smart he actually is, they'll make him do things. Be responsible.”

Ori smirks, and slides off him, to Fíli's minor disappointment. He sits cross-legged on the bed now, and Fíli forces himself up, elbows on knees. He does have to get dressed again, or Dwalin really will come in here and drag him out. 

“I need to speak to Gimli at some point today,” Fíli says.

“Might you leave it 'til the morrow? Then I could send word to expect us both, and it would kill two birds with one stone.” 

Fíli frowns. “Two birds with one stone?” 

“Oh,” Ori says, blinking. “The Elf who taught me how to use my slingshot, she used to say that. It means felling two birds with one shot. Same as when we say 'two rocks with one strike', I suppose” 

“You ever thought about learning the bow?” Fíli thinks he might be good at it, actually. Perhaps Kíli would be willing to teach him, and that would give the pair of them time to bond. He trusts Kíli with Ori, for the most part, for all Kíli is a terrible flirt. If Fíli makes it clear that Ori is off limits, Kíli will respect that. “And you're right, by the way. Send a message to Gimli for tea or supper or something.” 

“Do you have a preference?”

“Supper, because then we'll be able to talk at length, and I fear this will be a lengthy conversation between him and myself. Thorin has asked something I am not quite comfortable with, but, he's the king and my uncle.” Ori seems to be making a mental note of it, so Fíli again asks, “The bow isn't too hard. Not as difficult as the sword for sure. You can pull that slingshot, you can pull a bow, I'm sure. Not a bow like Kíli's, not yet, but it would be more useful.” 

Ori seems to consider it for far too long, but eventually he says, “Perhaps,” in his small way. “Would Kíli's teaching method be like yours?” 

“Not if he wants to keep his hands,” Fíli warns, only teasing. “I never did share well. Kíli knows that, or if he doesn't, he will learn again.” 

He looks at Ori for a moment, as Ori undoes his frayed braids. Again, he finished inside of Ori. If neither of them know just they want, they need to start being more careful, or they're not going to have a choice in a matter. It's hard though, when he feels the pull of his orgasm in the base of his spine, in his balls, when he's inside Ori with Ori clutching at him and begging him not to stop. It's hard to keep his wits about him, and truthfully, today he remembered he needed to pull out, but still hadn't, too caught up in his own selfishness. 

“I'll message the Elves in Cevon's party, invite them here for a late breakfast, and then we will have supper with Gimli and Legolas,” Ori says, his hair all loose now. “Their house will not be well-equipped for a proper breakfast, not an Elven breakfast at least. They'll like if they can have something familiar.” 

“You're likely right,” Fíli says, impressed by the foresight. He never would have thought of giving the Elves more familiar meals, but it's a good strategy to gain comfort. “And you can endear yourself to them further, learn what you can of Elrond's people.” 

“I am not very sure they will know much at all, truthfully. When I looked in the Library, it seems Thranduil's people and Elrond's people have kept themselves apart for almost as long as Legolas has been alive even. At least as long as when Thranduil was married. I found those dates near the dates where contact fell off between them all, though I found no cause recorded.” 

“I wonder why they dislike each other so,” Fíli says, only as interested as he needs to be. “Maybe Elrond slept with Thranduil's wife.” He shrugs. “Or Thranduil.” 

“Not everything relates to sex.” Ori rolls his eyes, and leaves their bed at last, to go into the bathroom and wash their own sex off his skin presumably. Fíli follows to do the same, finding Ori pouring bath salts into the heated water. “I will not have sex in the bath, just so you know.”

“What, never?” 

“I don't like it,” Ori says, and Fíli chooses to drop it. He has no desire to know how Ori knows he dislikes it. He threatened Ori's brother's life today, and Ori still came to his bed. Best to quit while he's ahead. “I wouldn't mind your desk though, if you like.” 

Fíli grins, and kisses the back of Ori's neck. 

“What about the Library?” he asks, and gets a scowl.

By the time he meets Dwalin in the yard, he's in an exceptionally good mood, and it must show, because Dwalin rolls his eyes, and says, “Mahal save me from quartz love.” 

Fíli frowns, drawing both his falchions so they can settle properly in his hands. “You don't believe in destiny, Dwalin?”

“Not particularly,” his instructor answers, coming at him with one of his fabled axes. Fíli blocks easily, and throws Dwalin off. 

Despite his smaller size and his bad hand, Fíli is aware of his strengths and talents, and wielding two swords works for him in the best way. Dwalin can wield both Keeper and Grasper, true, but axes aren't as precise as two well-made swords. 

They change position, Dwalin on the defensive now, as Fíli drives him back to the opposite side. Fíli gets a particularly good hit in, striking Dwalin across the chest in what would have been a killing blow had it not been with the blunted sides of his falchions. 

“So much for me being off my game,” Fíli taunts Dwalin, dodging a punch to his head afterwards. “What's wrong, old man? Too much time spent between Nori's thighs?” 

Dwalin grunts, smirking, and to Fíli's surprise, grabs one of Fíli's falchions in one armoured hand, wrenching it from his grasp. It's surprising enough that Fíli doesn't anticipate getting struck on the chin with the pommel of his own weapon before he regains his senses. 

“You're not one to talk of 'Ri thighs,” Dwalin chides, Fíli's left falchion landing in the sawdust. “Keep your guard up, now. This was what I was worried about. You're getting arrogant again.” 

“I am not,” Fíli protests, thinking to go for the lost sword. 

“Would you ever have thought of threatening an unarmed man in a hall before you had Ori in your bed, encouraging your ego?” Dwalin asks, and if Fíli was not a seasoned soldier, he might have flinched at that, allowed Dwalin the strike he clearly intended to make. He fends it off though, and forces the more powerful Dwarf back. 

“Would you ever care to challenge my affections were yours not so engaged?” Fíli raises his eyebrows at his teacher, and receives an unusually cold look in return. 

“You and Ori seem to have little concept of your place in this story. You two live in your little music box, thinking your affections will be enough”

Fíli scowls, unhappy with this turn. “My husband and I are not a part of this mummer's dance. He likes me, cares for me, regardless of what's gone on between our families. I care for him as well.” 

“Aye, lad, everyone with sight and sense knows that,” Dwalin replies, sneering as he hefts one of the axes. “You behave with no sense towards him, or who might spy the pair of you together. You no longer treat him as a stranger, but as your beloved. Nori might not see it, but I do.” He advances, his bulk pushing Fíli back, with an axe raised before Fíli can deflect. “Nori sees how you look at him, but I see how he looks at you. I see the bond forming between the pair of you, and I worry all the more for it.”

Fíli laughs, and shifts his grip on his sword. “I knew I could not possibly be sloppy. All you wanted was a free moment to lecture me on your beloved's behalf.” 

“No, I wanted a free moment to offer you some wise words. You have listened to me in the past, Fíli, and by our Maker and all his apprentices, I pray you heed me now as well. Ori is a sweet, agreeable creature, and it is easy to love him, I'm sure. I would not see you hurt by high expectations of what he might feel for you, though.”

Now he realizes the warning is not meant towards Ori, but Fíli, and he is a bit ashamed for doubting Dwalin's love of him. He's been Dwalin's student since he was a child. Of course his teacher would attempt to save him from unnecessary pain, not only for the Crown, but for Fíli himself. 

“We might yet love one another,” Fíli says, somewhat helplessly. “We've been married for but three months, and already he cares for me, shares my bed. Talks of making a child with me some day in the future. He and I, I think we are actually rather well-suited for one another, you know.” 

There's something very pained in Dwalin's face. “Fascination is not love, Fíli.”

“I never said it was!” Fíli swings at Dwalin, and finds his target, throwing Dwalin off enough he can retrieve his other sword. “I said we were well-suited to one another, that I care for him, that I enjoy being with him. It's not love, but it might be!”

Dwalin does not allow him much breathing time. He comes at him again, but Fíli is faster. He rolls, his swords drawn close and held flat to keep himself protected. When Dwalin follows him to where he lands, Fíli is already braced for the coming blow. Dwalin does not expect him to take the hit, and it gives Fíli the split-second he needs to use Dwalin's own strength against him. Fíli throws the big Dwarf over his head, spinning on his toes to face him again. 

His teacher is coughing up sawdust, attempting to brush it out of his beard with his fingers. Fíli holds, unsure of if he should continue. This is only supposed to be training, after all. 

He gets no choice when he shifts his falchion in his left hand, and a sharp burst of pain travels down the fingers and all the way up to his elbow. The sword drops as he cries out, bringing it to his chest instinctively, as though it will help at all. He swears uselessly, then swears again with purpose, because damn it. _Damn it_. 

“Fíli,” Dwalin is by his side in an instant, attempting to see if there's a visible injury. “Did I hurt you, lad? I told you to be careful doing that with an opponent my size, I'm nearly twice your weight.”

“It's my hand,” Fíli says, shaking him off. “Just my hand.”

“Go see Óin, allow him to look at it,” Dwalin orders, clearly expecting Fíli to obey him without question. When Fíli shakes his head, Dwalin sighs like he did when Fíli was a child, refusing some simple task out of stubbornness. “Now is not the time to be cross with me, you hard-headed child. An Orc bite is nothing to scoff at, even after it's healed. Lost my own ear to one, if you remember.” 

Dwalin's ear is more ruined than Fíli's, jagged tears through it that make it ugly and obvious. The Dwarf wears the battle scars with pride, as he should, as Fíli wears his when amongst other soldiers. 

He thinks of Ori's lips on his knuckles, in an abstract sort of way. Ori had called Fíli brave, had said he was a good Dwarf. A good prince, which is a far harder thing to be, Fíli is finding. 

“Has the pain been frequent?” 

“No,” Fíli shakes his head. “No, it's been fine. Flare-ups, but I'm not sure it's anything to worry over.”

“It's your hand.” Somehow, Dwalin always makes him feel like an idiot.

“True.”

His teacher smirks. “Won't be able to hold a bairn with a gimp hand, now will you?”

To Fíli's own surprise, heat rushes to his face. “There's no bairn to speak of, all right? Was only something we were talking about.” 

“Aye, well, in my experience lad, once one starts talking about it, that means there's a bun in the oven already.” Dwalin waggles his eyebrows suggestively, and Fíli decides he doesn't want to know. “Three months you've been married now. Wouldn't be surprised if little Ori had Dori knitting up some blankets.”

Fíli doesn't know how to say that there's no way that it's already happened. They've been married almost three months, yes, but they haven't been having sex for those three months. “I was the one who brought it up,” he says, instead of any of that. “I think you might expect a child out of Kíli before me.”

“I wouldn't be surprised if Kíli already had a baby,” Dwalin concedes. “That boy, I swear. I must have hit him too hard in the head as a child.”

“Gimli and I might be to blame as well,” Fíli says, not feeling terribly remorseful. Kíli had usually deserved whatever Fíli had done to him. Well, usually. Sometimes he had just annoyed Fíli. “A brother-child would solve many problems. Ori would not feel obligated, and Kíli might settle down a bit.”

Dwalin laughs at the very idea, and Fíli doesn't blame him. He doubts anything but age will settle his brother down.

His mind betrays him, tacking on a _if he lives that long_ , because another cold, another fever, another plague, and Kíli might not survive. Fíli will lose his brother, and he does not like to think about that at all. Kíli still gets on his nerves sometimes, but he's Fíli's little brother, one of the few people he trusts completely in this world. 

Fíli would not see him gone from it.

“What do you think of the Elves?” he asks, to change the subject to an easier one. Not only that, he wishes to know just what Thorin has confided in Dwalin, what advice Dwalin might offer on an arguably more important subject. “Of Legolas?”

Dwalin shakes his head. “I believe he and Gimli require a lesson in subtlety. They're too obvious. Anyone who knows them will see now.”

“And do you agree with Thorin?”

“I have even less love of Elves than your uncle,” Dwalin says. “I will not agree with his plan, no matter how he explains it. No one will accept it. Not even the Elves. Gimli is young still, and should not be trusted with his own heart, not just yet.”

Fíli is not so sure. “I believe out of all of us, Gimli knows himself the best. He's always been older than his years.” Especially after the Battle of the Wood. “I think it will be more a benefit than anything else.” 

“Because you are young.”

“You loved Nori young,” Fíli reminds him, and gets a scowl in return. “I thought we were allowed to speak of this now.”

“You're also allowed to stand on the High Tower naked, singing _In The Fields of Green Grass_ , but I do not recommend it.” Dwalin hefts his axe, before returning it to its strap. “Nori is not well. I'm sure you know that. He's half-mad at times, has always been that way, long before what happened. I would ask that you remember that.”

“I have no intention of hurting Nori.” Fíli would never, he's sure. It would hurt Ori as well, and Dwalin too, two people Fíli holds close. “Tell him to keep himself under control though. Be unhinged somewhere else.” 

“Is that an order?” Dwalin has never asked Fíli that in earnest, not like how he asks Thorin the same question. He is now though, and it causes a strange feeling in Fíli. 

“Yes,” Fíli says, and feels all the older for the word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FILLER CHAPTER DONE 
> 
> POLITICS NEXT 
> 
> ALSO SLEEP. AND MORE ALCOHOL. (I wish to every god and saint and deity I could set up a tip jar for my alcohol consumption, but being paid for fanfiction is likely wrong) (Likely)


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A guest arrives in Erebor at last, while Fíli and Ori get up to no good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Explicit sex

The heralds sound, and Fíli looks to the entrance of the hall in interest. “Are we expecting someone?” 

“No,” Thorin answers, frowning. 

It's an odd, fleeting thought, but when Thorin wears the Raven Crown, he looks less like Fíli's uncle, and more like his king. It's such a strange idea to Fíli even now, that his beloved uncle is not just his uncle, but king to all of Erebor. Maybe it will be strange to his own child or brother-child far in the future as well. 

Fleeting thoughts, and they flit away when their guest is admitted, escorted by two guards who look no less confused than Fíli feels. 

“I stand as emissary to Lord Elrond of Rivendell,” the very small, ragged creature standing before them says. His feet are bare on their floor, Fíli notices with a raised eyebrow. And they are very big feet. “Am I to assume I am speaking to King Thorin of Erebor?”

“Do you think there is another Dwarf in the mountain who sits on the throne and wears the crown?” Fíli asks sceptically, his mind caught on the bare feet and something Ori had said. “Are you a Hobbit?” _They do not wear shoes_. “Why would Lord Elrond send a Hobbit?” 

“Which question should I answer first?” the creature asks somewhat waspishly. “Yes, I am a Hobbit. I am Bilbo Baggins. Erm. Bilbo Baggins that is, son of Bungo and Belladonna Baggins.” Fíli is not sure what 'Baggins' might mean. Perhaps this Bilbo is very good at bagging things? 

“Elrond sends me a grocer,” Thorin says, and Fíli chuckles. 

The little creature, Bilbo, on the other hand, positively bristles. “I am not a grocer,” he says defensively. “I am a scholar, and Lord Elrond is a patron of mine.” 

“Then what does 'Baggins' mean?” Fíli asks, when he knows Thorin won't. “What do you bag?”

“What?” the Hobbit looks as confused as Fíli feels. “What in the world are you talking about?”

“What are you talking about?” Fíli returns, wishing badly for Ori. He could explain this, perhaps. 

“ _Enough_.” Thorin stands and descends the stairs to stand level with Bilbo. The Hobbit only comes to Thorin's shoulder, and Fíli remembers Ori saying that they were only as tall as him. Ori is a small Dwarf, so perhaps this Bilbo is a tall Hobbit. They make an odd sight, his uncle and this Hobbit, his uncle in his court armour and fine clothes, and the Hobbit so tossed-about looking. “Where is your escort?”

“Ah, them.” Thorin surprisingly does not glance at Fíli. Usually he would in a situation such as this, allow Fíli to see his annoyance. No, now his uncle's eyes stay on the Hobbit, despite the irritating way he's rambling through an explanation. “Well, you see, there was a spot of trouble with some of Lord Thranduil's soldiers upon the road and they have been delayed. It was decided, er, well, I decided I would not wait for them. So here I am. Bilbo Baggins.”

“As we see,” Thorin replies. “We were not expecting you for a few days more, Master Baggins.”

“I travelled a bit faster than I intended to,” Master Baggins admits, with an awkward cough. “I came by water.” The little Hobbit swallows, and Fíli keeps his raised eyebrow to himself. Thorin is not so intimidating that Master Baggins need look at him in such a way. Why would Lord Elrond send such an obviously inexperienced emissary? 

“We are glad to receive you,” Fíli says, when Thorin turns away to sit upon his throne again. “We're only surprised, and not only by your timing. I never thought Lord Elrond would send a race outside his own to us.” It's not something Thranduil would do, were he pressed by the Valar themselves. Honestly, he's not quite sure what to do here. Is this a joke by Elrond? An insult? Or is Bilbo truly trusted enough to be sent? 

“Ah, well that too, that is a bit of a story.” Bilbo rubs his mouth, looking around at the courtiers in attendance. “My, there are quite a lot of you, aren't there?” 

“Imagine, there being many Dwarrows in a Dwarven kingdom,” Fíli drawls, and his uncle chuckles. “Forgive us, but you are early and we have nothing quite prepared for a Hobbit. Your master made no mention of your race, and we assumed we were receiving more Elves.”

To his surprise, the little creature seems to find some spine. “Lord Elrond is not my _master_ ,” he says decidedly. “He is my patron, and I am doing him a favour.”

Fíli thinks to his argue with him, but the day holds more surprises; Thorin deigns to again speak to the creature himself. “Perhaps we are confusing the Westron words, Halfling,” he says, using an old word Fíli has seen for Hobbits in their books. “Patron and master mean much the same thing, to our ears. One who funds you, trains you. Are they not?” 

The Hobbit seems a bit tongue-tied, and Fíli could guess why, as he leans on the throne, resting his left leg. It hardly ever hurts, the injury older than both wars, but standing for such a long while usually causes it a twinge. He wonders if Ori would ease it later. He should ask. For the moment though, he takes pleasure in watching someone else writhe under his uncle's gaze. 

“There are...not dissimilar, I suppose.” 

“Then why do take insult at the word?” Thorin asks, and Fíli doesn't bother repressing his grin. The Hobbit glares at him, and Fíli's grin grows. 

“Perhaps you should be aware of who you are trying to cut down with your eyes, Emissary,” he says, and his uncle's eyes flick up to him. “You speak to my uncle, the king of Erebor, and you're turning your eyes on his heir.” 

The Hobbit's eyes narrow, but now it's in confusion. Fíli supposes he understands that much at least. Thorin and him look little alike at first glance, Thorin so dark and Fíli so fair. 

“Take my word for it,” Thorin says, his eyes back on the Hobbit. “You might glare and shout at him all you wish, but none of it will penetrate his hard head.” Fíli thinks he might be insulted. “You would do better to appeal to his spouse.”

“Do you believe I am so easily swayed by Ori?” Fíli jokes, still leaning on the throne. His leg is pinching all along his thigh now, and though it's not an uncommon thing during the winter, it's painful all the same. “I suppose I can own to it.” 

The court is watching, he remembers, careful to keep his tone light. The only rumours he wants whispered about are ones of Fíli being enamoured with Ori, of their marriage being normal. Anything breaking from what the court expects, and Fíli might expect the worst to break loose upon them. 

In any case, he takes pity on the Hobbit. “You've had a difficult journey, we gather. Is the rest of your party soon to arrive?” 

“I hope so,” the Hobbit, Bilbo, he reminds himself, says. “If Lord Thranduil will allow them to pass.” 

“Wish the sun to rise in the west, and the moon to show us her full face, and obtain those more easily,” Thorin says, smiling. “In any case, you look as though you are in need of rest. My sister-son will escort you to the baths, a meal and a change of clothes, and then we shall speak on your lord's business.” 

Fíli takes his cue, and steps down, hiding his wince when his leg hurts all the more for the movement before it is quite ready. “Come, Bilbo. We will see what might be dredged up for you.” He is not so much smaller than a Dwarf, though he is much slighter than any adult Dwarf Fíli has ever known, including himself, Kíli and Ori. Surely something can be made to fit, so he at least has something clean to wear. 

Bilbo waits until they enter the hallway before he says, “You are his nephew then, not his son?”

“His what?” Fíli frowns at the word. “What does that word mean? 'Nephew'?” 

Their guest frowns too. “That's right, he called you sister-son, didn't he? Very well then. A nephew is the boy child of one's brother or sister. A girl would be a niece. But that all must mean you are the son of a princess?” 

“Princess Dís is my mother, yes,” Fíli confirms. “I am called Fíli Twoswords in the lineage. What is the meaning of your distinguishing name? I admit, I'm confused as to what Baggins might refer to. And how did you and your sire and bearer come to earn the same name?” 

“What it might...?” The Hobbit seems confused, but then, so is Fíli, as he leads Bilbo away from the public areas and into the guest quarters, where he might have a bath and be seen to by a healer, if he needs one. He seems a bit worse for wear. “Oh, I see! You do not have family names as we do, do you? I'm afraid Baggins is not a name I earned, but the name that defines which family I belong to.” 

It clears things up a bit for Fíli. He knows what a family name is, though he thought only Men took such names. “I see,” he says, and waits for Bilbo to finish climbing the staircase to the living quarters. Despite his long journey, it seems to wind him. “And how is it someone with no earned name has come to be in service to an Elven Lord?” 

Bilbo struggles to catch his breath as they walk from the sound of it, but he still manages to talk. “That's a rather long and dull story, I'm afraid, starting with my mother and ending with an old family friend. It's not all that interesting, even to me. As for being his emissary, Lord Elrond thought it might appease Lord Thranduil a bit if he sent someone of a more neutral nature.” 

“Your Lord has never had a conversation with Thranduil then,” Fíli says. “There is nothing in this matter that will appease him, I'm sorry to tell you.” When the Hobbit starts to appear nervous, Fíli feels a bit badly for his pessimism, so he adds, “Erebor is of course tightly aligned with Thranduil, but we have no quarrel with Elrond.”

The Hobbit does not seem impressed, but Fíli isn't sure what else there is to say, so he drops it, and they walk together in silence towards the baths of the guest quarters. The large, airy room is lined with carved marble and patterned tile, hung with curtains made of gauzy fabric in blues and greens and golds. The largest bath has been filled, as it usually is, steam coming off the water, the smaller baths sitting empty until needed. 

Two attendants appear from a servant's passage, bobbing their heads respectfully to Fíli, but remaining silent. 

“My own spouse, Ori, is to be your companion while you are here,” Fíli informs Bilbo, nodding at the pair of them. “I would summon him, but he's with our other guests. I will ask him to join you as soon as he might, but until then, these are the baths you might use,” he gestures to the large room. “Take your time, I ask, so that we might prepare a proper room for you. The attendants will see to your wants.” 

They _had_ prepared another guest house for Elrond's people, assuming they would be Elves, but that will not do for Bilbo. He's only as tall as Ori, and as slight as a child. 

He intends to leave the Hobbit, but Bilbo doesn't allow him, shifting from foot to foot awkwardly with his hands clasped behind his back and clearly asking for more of Fíli's attention. “Are there more uh, private areas I could get cleaned up?” 

“I suppose, but none of them are ready for guests,” Fíli says, hitching one shoulder in a half-shrug. The sting has faded in his leg with the exercise, but now that he's standing still again, it's starting to pinch. “And even if they were, it's impolite for a guest to bathe in private when they first arrive.” _Impolite_ is the best way Fíli might put it without potentially insulting Bilbo. A Dwarf would understand, and Elves do as well, or at least Thranduil's people, not that most of them are even expected to uphold the tradition now. Fíli has known Cevon and Legolas since he was a child, as has Thorin and Dís. Thranduil and his family are as close to trusted friends as Thorin might have an Elf be.

“Well, it's impolite to ask a guest to bathe naked in front of strangers to my people,” Bilbo protests, and beside them, Fíli sees the attendants exchange a sceptical look. “Lord Elrond has never requested such a thing.” 

“Whatever Lord Elrond does is not my problem,” Fíli replies, tired of this already. “And if an assassin smuggles in poison or a weapon because he allowed a stranger into his home without caution, that it not my problem either. This is how things are done here. My spouse would bathe with you, but as I said, he is with our other guests.” 

“Are you talking about me?” a voice asks, and Fíli turns to see Ori and the two Elves that had attended Legolas. 

Fíli smiles at the sight of him. “Do I have another husband?” He turns to Bilbo as Ori comes into his sphere, one hand on Fíli's arm. “Bilbo, this is my spouse, Ori, son of Glori. Ori, this is our emissary from Lord Elrond, Bilbo Baggins.” 

Ori and his Elf friends seem surprised, though Ori is the only one who asks, “Are you a Shire Hobbit then, or do you make your home in Lord Elrond's halls?” 

“Still a Shire Hobbit as such,” Bilbo seems to have been caught a bit wrong-footed by the question, or maybe only surprised. His eyes keep lingering on Ori's hand upon Fíli's arm. “As I told your prince, it's a very long story, and quite dull.” 

The Elves are looking at the baths beyond in interest. “I remember these!” the redhead says, sounding fond. “Elven baths are only matched by Dwarven ones.” 

The blond seems to be eyeing it rather longingly. “I was disappointed that Legolas did not allow us time to have a proper bath.” He smiles down at Ori, and a touch of possessiveness runs through Fíli. “Perhaps you would be willing to right his wrong, my friend?” 

“If you would like,” Fíli answers for him when he feels Ori's fingers tighten on his arm. “Our new guest is due his as well.” 

“So we will get a chance to know one another,” the redhead, what was her name? She was a woman, wasn't she? It was hard to tell with Elves sometimes. “You might tell us how you came to be a friend to Lord Elrond.” 

One of the two attendants has dashed off, likely to summon more, as the remaining one begins to ready things for them. 

Bilbo is turning a remarkable shade of first red, then white when the blond joins the attendant by the side of the baths, and kneels so that he can be helped out of his leathers. “Oh, you must be _joking_ ,” he breathes, his voice shaking. “You bathe together?” 

“I had forgotten,” Ori says, sounding disappointed. “I travelled through your Shire once, about ten seasons past. Your people are very private. I'm so sorry. I had forgotten that.” 

“Private?” Fíli is curious, and Ori turns to him, all his attention upon Fíli, as he likes it. 

“Hobbits do not bathe or undress in front of even their own family after they grow out of childhood,” Ori explains. 

“Surely you bathed along the road?” Fíli asks Bilbo incredulously, another part of his mind wondering just what Hobbits are hiding under their clothes. The Hobbit's feet are larger than even Dwalin's, despite his small size, so perhaps his ill-fitting clothes hide other oddities. “Lord Elrond's customs cannot be so different from Thranduil's.” 

“Lord Elrond has always afforded me my own bathing chambers,” Bilbo says, his eyes on the stone tiles beneath their feet as the blond Elf slides naked into the waters, the attendant kneeling behind him with a pitcher. 

The other has returned with more, and the redhead, who had been speaking merrily to the blond as he stripped, is helped out of her armour as well. She is a woman, Fíli confirms, when he sees how her chest is bound beneath her shirt. 

Bilbo looks as though he might faint. 

“Is something the matter?” Ori is asking Fíli, his expression concerned. “Is your hand hurting you?”

“Different injury,” Fíli replies with a dry chuckle. “From when I was learning to ride a pony. I had a bad fall, broke my left leg.” 

“Perhaps you should join our guests as well,” Ori suggests, and Fíli smiles, taking Ori's hand in his and pressing a kiss to the inside of his wrist. He should have a set of bracelets commissioned for him, something to cover the fine bones of Ori's wrists, keep them from harm. 

“I cannot. Now that you are here, I must leave our guests in your care, and return to my uncle. Doubtless he has already contemplated putting someone to death for prattling on too long. And after that, I must see how Kíli is faring.” 

Ori nods, and to Fíli's pleased surprise, adjusts the braids that hang in the front of Fíli's hair. “I've told Gimli to expect us at the eighth bell. He seems much better, and he looked very happy about us coming.” Ori seems hopeful, so Fíli takes a kiss, unheeding of Bilbo's presence. “Will you let me do your braids before we go?”

“You don't have to ask,” Fíli replies, happy at the request. “I'll join you in our rooms at the sixth bell. And I have news for you that I think you'll like.” At least he hopes Ori will like Fíli's decision. If he does, Fíli can send word for the house near Gimli's to be opened, and they could look at it after supper. “I must go. Perhaps you will have better luck with our guest.” 

“I will try,” Ori promises, and leaves Fíli's arms to join Bilbo, now sitting on a bench with his back to the baths, his mouth pursed in a straight line. 

This leaves Fíli to rejoin Thorin in the throne room, his uncle raising an eyebrow in question when he sees Fíli's face. 

“How do you find our guest?” Thorin asks under his breath when Fíli stands beside him again. 

“Annoying,” Fíli answers honestly. “Hopefully Ori finds him a more bearable presence.”

“He has endured sharing quarters with you for three months now,” Thorin says, his smirk hidden behind a hand. “I imagine he can find anyone bearable.” 

Fíli would argue, if he didn't have a point. Instead, he laughs to himself, and stands at attention beside his uncle, eager to get through this part of his day. Some parts of being a prince he enjoys, and others are duller than coal. This is one such task that he would gladly excuse himself from if he could. 

Still, it concludes at the midday bell, and Fíli is free to check on Kíli. 

He finds his brother awake, and better still, up and dressed. He's paler than Fíli would like, and when Fíli comes into his rooms, he's coughing, but it's not as bad as his worst thoughts feared. “I would ask if you've learned anything from this, but since I know you, they would be wasted words.” 

“We got the bow to work,” Kíli reminds him cheerfully. “So as far as I'm concerned, it was a worthy sacrifice.” 

Fíli rolls his eyes, and throws himself down onto one of Kíli's couches. “You're a fucking idiot, you know that?” 

“It's not as though I'm going to be king.” Kíli flips through some papers on the desk beneath the rather large carving of Erebor, with the seven stars above. “And one of us has to be fun. It's certainly not going to be you. The only time I ever see you smile now is after you've been between Ori's thighs.” 

He makes a rude gesture at Kíli in response without opening his eyes. It's not worth it. Kíli will just be worse if he knows it bothers Fíli. 

However, Kíli cannot resist a challenge. Fíli feels him lean over the couch somewhere near Fíli's stomach, and says, “Speaking of Ori's thighs...”

“I _will_ kill you.” Fíli covers his eyes with his arm, attempting to block out the light. He has a restless, crawling feeling under his skin he can't put name to, and it's making him irritable. “I'll not share him. I cannot.”

“Because he might bear,” Kíli says, more a question. “It's not as though it matters. We are full brothers, and your blood child could easily have black hair over blond. More likely even.”

“That is not why.”

“He doesn't like me?” His little brother seems confused over that, not that Fíli blames him. He's never met anyone who did not like Kíli, and for all he knows, Ori does as well. “Are you sure?”

Fíli keeps his eyes closed so he doesn't have to see Kíli's face when he says, “The thought of your hands on him is unbearable to me.” 

His brother says nothing for a long moment, leaving the couch Fíli is sprawled on to go wherever he might in the room that serves as both his sitting room and his workroom. “Your marriage is arranged,” he says, when he does speak. “And I like him so far, but I'm telling you this because you're my brother and I love you: don't get your hopes up. He didn't choose you, and...”

“I've already heard this lecture.” He has no desire to hear it again, especially not from Kíli. “He does my braids, worries over my pains. He has told me he cares for me. That's enough for now.” Kíli makes a noise that has Fíli squinting at him from under his arm. “What?”

“I'm not so stupid I'll believe that,” Kíli says, but allows the subject to drop. “The servants tell me that Elrond's emissary arrived, and that he is a strange creature. No Elf, but a real, live Hobbit. We've never seen their people before. What does he look like, truly?” 

“He does not wear shoes, and he wears no beard, like some of the Men. His hair is worn short as well,” Fíli says, shrugging. “Other than that, he is small, only as tall as Ori, if that, and slight of limb besides. I could likely break his arm with hardly a thought towards it. _You_ could likely break his arm.”

“Fuck your mother,” Kíli replies offhandedly to the insult, inspecting his nails. 

“We have the same mother, stupid.” 

Kíli bites at a hangnail in reply. 

“Strange creature, in any case,” Fíli continues. “He all but fainted in the baths. Ori was entertaining Legolas' friends, and they decided to enjoy the waters as well. Apparently, Hobbits do not ever strip nude in front of another when in polite company. You should have seen his face. Other than that, he's not all that interesting. Foolish little shit though. He actually dared to raise his hackle with Thorin.”

His brother laughs. “Did he really? What a fucking idiot. Did uncle hew him down to size?”

Fíli closes his eyes again. “No. Not really.” 

“What do you mean?”

“They exchanged words, and then Uncle sent me to escort the Hobbit to the baths.” Only because the court had been watching, he tells himself. No other reason. What other reason could Thorin have to stay his tongue? His uncle is a Dwarf through and through, and their people do not hold to the ways of Elves and Men, lying to appease egos or soothe pride. 

Thorin would have no other reason. 

“Uncle's eyes lingered on him,” he admits truthfully. “Maybe that's what the problem has been. His taste runs towards Hobbits.” 

“I really don't want to think about that,” Kíli replies, as Fíli sits up. “What did you think of him, really? Is he a threat?”

“He's no assassin like I've ever seen,” Fíli answers, eyeing the clockworks. He doesn't have much time before he needs to meet Ori in their rooms, the court having dragged on for far too long. “If he is one, I doubt he'll succeed.”

“Unless he charms his way into our uncle's bed,” Kíli says, Fíli nodding agreeably to the point. “He'd hardly need to be a formidable opponent to kill Thorin then.” 

“I doubt Lord Elrond means to assassinate Thorin, in any case. What would the purpose be? If Thorin dies, I am king, and I am already married and, for all I know, I have an heir of my own not far off. It would do him no good at all.” He speaks facts, but still, he does not enjoy the idea of being king before his time. The thought of losing Thorin to something so low as a serpent in his bed is unbearable.

It is Thorin though. His eyes might linger, but he's never known his uncle to take someone to his bed more than once or twice, and his uncle's heart rests safely with Erebor and their family. 

“You even like Thranduil more than Thorin does,” Kíli muses. “If you were king, our alliances would be even more secured. He and the Elf Witch would be lucky if Erebor did not declare war on both their kingdoms.” 

“Thranduil would not side with us against fellow Elves,” Fíli disagrees, shaking his head as he forces himself up and off the couch. “He might wish to, but his pride would never allow it. Would we stand against Dáin if he committed a crime against Thranduil?”

“Can't we?” Kíli asks. “I hate Dáin. Thranduil sends us wine, while Dáin only sends us grief. Have you seen Mother today? Do you know what she suggested?” 

“I'm sure you're going to tell me.” 

Kíli swears. “She thinks to marry me off to Thorin the Little! I did not mind when it was Gimli being thought on; he's my friend, and I like him well enough. I could love him in time.” Fíli holds his tongue at that. Gimli has not confided in Kíli, and for good reason. He loves his little brother, but Kíli can't keep a secret to save his life. “But Little Thorin? She cannot be serious! Why the change?”

“She's Mother, who knows what goes through her head?” Fíli comes over to investigate Kíli's workspace, and finds it a mess, not that he expected better. It looks as though some of the guilds are fighting over territory again, the Jewellers' Guild demanding more space and the Weavers' and Jades' Guild protesting the encroachment. “The Weavers and the Jades are not ones I would go against.”

“Only because the Weavers contain half your husband's family,” Kíli says, frowning over the papers. “And the Jades the other half. I met his cousin the day before last, did I tell you? One called Siri, daughter of Klori, the sister of your husband's mother.”

“Did you? How did you find her?”

“A fucking goat with no give.” Kíli huffs. “Mahal's fucking cock, no wonder your husband is so meek. He's had every bit of spine beaten out of him by that lot. Bunch of damn vipers coiled in their nest.” 

“As though you would not risk the bite,” Fíli scoffs. 

“I like my cock where it is,” Kíli tells him. “And your husband's lot would see it elsewhere since they cannot get to yours.” He raises his eyebrows at Fíli. “You're not popular down there right now. If I were you, I'd order Ori down there to set them straight and assure them he enjoys it when you violate him.” 

Fíli punches him in the shoulder, hard enough to make him stumble, and gets hit back, though not as hard, he imagines. “Dolt.”

“Prat.” Kíli rubs at his arm, pretending at being more wounded than he is. “You saw the Elves that travel with the youngest son?”

“Legolas,” Fíli reminds him, looking over the many, many threats the Jades have made against the Jewellers' if they dare take one more step onto their grounds. Some are rather creative, but most involve genitals, which while he supposes is very fitting for the Jades' Guild, it makes them dull far too quickly. He sets them aside, and reminds himself to talk to Ori about it tonight. “You will eventually have to remember their names. You've only known them your whole life.” 

“I've known of them. You're the one they speak to.” Kíli sighs over the paperwork, and rubs at his temple. “You're the one everyone speaks to, looks to. I don't blame them, really. You're a war hero, and you're rather dashing when you actually smile.” Suddenly, Fíli doesn't think Kíli is sighing over the paperwork. “I should have been in the war. I should be a war hero too.” 

“You couldn't,” Fíli says, trying to make him see reason. “I'm not saying you're weak, little brother. You aren't. You might be the best archer in all the kingdom, as you well know, and you're clever, when you decide to be. But you know as well as I do that you cannot bed down with a whole camp of unwashed Dwarrows and not come up with a fever.” He struggles for words, trying to find the ones that will make his brother see his point. “Kíli, I'll not see you dead just for glory.” 

“Lucky for you, I'll not see myself dead for glory either. Only...I see how our people look at you, and I wish they would look at me like that. I want to be respected, as you are, and treated as you are.” 

His brother is not being unreasonable, but Fíli has no idea what he should say to him, how to make him feel better. “You cannot be a hero like they think I am, Kíli. You could die in the process, and I can't lose you. I can't.”

Kíli chuckles, and elbows him. “Oi, I'll not be leaving you. Erebor would be so much dust before I was cold.” 

“I'd argue, but you're probably right,” Fíli concedes. “Maker knows, I cannot be trusted to charm a happy drunk, much less a cold diplomat. Everyone loves you though, on first sight.” Before Kíli can say another thing, Fíli says, “I swear to the Maker and all his apprentices, if the next words out of your mouth involve Ori in any way, I will knock you on your arse.”

His little brother laughs, and he feels a bit better. 

He joins Ori in their rooms at the intended hour, and his husband does his braids up for him. Fíli steals a kiss or three in the process, and Ori pushes him off with only a little force for the first one, hardly any at all for the second, and by the third and the ones that follow, none at all. 

“Stop it,” Ori says, but he's smiling so hard his dimples show over his beard. “We have to leave now. Gimli and the prince are expecting us.” 

“I know. I just like to kiss you.” 

Colour rises in Ori's face, and Fíli kisses where it shows. Ori turns his head so their mouths meet, and they kiss for a little longer. “Let me do a braid in your hair,” Fíli cajoles, only teasing, but Ori withdraws, his smile tuning into something a bit more confused. “...It's just...you braid mine...”

Ori moves away from him, and Fíli's heart finds a new home just above his stomach. 

“I was only teasing,” Fíli says, though he won't deny to himself how much Ori's quiet refusal hurts. 

“Don't be upset,” Ori pleads, touching his forehead to Fíli's. “For my family, braids mean much more than they do to yours. We hide secrets and messages in them. And for us to allow someone to braid our hair, it's terribly intimate. More than you know.” 

“I'm your husband.” 

“I know, but...” Ori kisses him, closed mouth against closed mouth. “It's only, my family...they wouldn't understand.” 

Fíli supposes he can understand that. They've only been married these three months, and intimate far less than that. There's little Fíli can say that sounds even remotely reasonable. “All right,” he says instead of any of his feelings. “It's fine.”

“No, it's not,” Ori says decisively, and takes Fíli's hands in his, raises them up to his hair. “Go ahead. I don't mind.” 

He's cautious as he undoes the braid behind the ones that frame Ori's face, loosening the hair into soft waves. Before he begins, he rises and goes to the seldom-used dressing table, digging around in one of the drawers until he finds what he's looking for. When he returns to the bed, he leans over and kisses the lock of hair before beginning the braid, a four-strand plait that he can make look neat. Once it's done, he closes it off with the clasp he'd gotten from the drawer.

Ori raises it, studying it before looking at Fíli with a question in his face. It's a pretty little clasp, if not a bit clumsily made where it joins. “It was the first one I ever made,” he explains, and the way Ori kisses him after he says it almost distracts him from his own purpose. He remembers though, and reluctantly says, “Stop. I have to ask you something.” 

“What?” 

“There's a town house, you see, right by the one Gimli is living in. It's not all that big, and it needs a bit of work, but it's well-situated, and away from the palace. My uncle says he does not mind if I live outside the palace, so if you like, we could establish our household there.” He's not sure what to make of Ori's expression. “Would you like that?” 

“Yes,” Ori says, in an exhale. “Yes, I would like that so much. I really would. To have our own house, away from Frerin, and your mother -” He covers his mouth with his hands, turning red.

“Don't worry, that's a factor for me as well.” Fíli had not liked her behaviour at the dinner, and honestly, they have had butted heads before over other subjects. He loves his mother, that he won't ever deny, but they've reached an impasse now. Fíli does not have the luxury of being her child any more, and she cannot let him go. “My mother means well. She is just...her children are grown, I suppose, and for her, that is a difficult thing to grasp.” 

His husband is quiet, and Fíli wonders what it is like to have a mother who does not even want you. 

“We can go see the house tonight, after we have dined with Gimli and Legolas,” Fíli says, not sure he should ask such a question. “We should go.” 

“Yes, we should,” Ori agrees, standing. “I'm sure Gimli will enjoy being allowed to be so open in front of anyone.”

Fíli swears through his teeth. “Right, that's another thing I must tell you...”

By the time they reach Gimli's home, Ori seems to finally be getting his head around the idea. “Your uncle might be right, really. A marriage between the two kingdoms would be wonderful for our relations. Gimli is in a perfect position for it too. He's close to the Crown, but not too close. And Legolas is a fourth son, and despite what you think, not likely the heir. Even if he is, it'll be many years off.” 

“So you agree with my uncle?” Fíli is still not sold on the idea.

“I believe in Erebor,” Ori replies, looking ahead, and Fíli remembers that Ori agreed to marry him without knowing him at all. “I believe in our home, and I want it to prosper even more.” 

His family is not all well-off, Fíli remembers. Some of them might even be rather poor. But this is neither the time nor place for that conversation, so Fíli leaves it where it lies. “You should learn the bow.” He changes the subject to one he likes better. “I would like to see you know a real weapon, and Kíli has been reminded to be polite.” 

“I think I'd like that,” Ori says, resting some of his weight on Fíli. “I always wanted to learn a weapon. The bow might do.” 

“Maybe you and Legolas could speak on it as well.”

Ori shrugs, and they walk in a mostly comfortable silence to Gimli's door, where Gimli himself answers the knock. He looks much better altogether, his complexion back to his normal ruddy colour and his eyes not as red-rimmed, though he still coughs as he welcomes them in. 

He eyes Ori's hair once Ori has let his shawl down, then asks, “You actually let him put that thing in your hair?”

“Oi,” Fíli warns, shoving at him. 

“I'm just saying, if I was the one married to a prince, I would demand something a fair bit prettier for a love token.” The comment makes Ori blush a bit, and Fíli secures a hand on his lower back, keeping him within Fíli's sphere as they follow Gimli.

“And what have you demanded of Legolas?” Fíli teases, and gets a grunt in reply. They find their way into the sitting room, where food and wine have been set out, and Legolas reclines on a floor pillow with a half-empty glass already in hand. “I imagine you've brought Gimli many pretty flowers, haven't you, Elf Prince?” 

“Flowers are nice,” Ori says, somewhat quietly as he joins Legolas at the table, leaving Fíli to stand there beside Gimli. 

“Oh, well done. Only been five minutes and you've made an arse of yourself.” Gimli snickers at him, and Fíli contemplates punching him. Ori would likely not be impressed. He doesn't imagine Legolas would be either. “Let's see what else you can accomplish tonight.” 

“You'll want to hear what was accomplished with my uncle, though I can't take credit for it.” When Gimli frowns, Fíli pitches his voice lower and says, “Thorin likes the idea of securing our ties with the Woodland Elves very much, you see.” 

Across the room, Legolas perks up, and Fíli curses Elvish ears. 

“Does he now?” Gimli asks, sounding apprehensive. “I'm not so sure I believe that.” 

“I do not believe it myself,” Fíli confides. “But Thorin enjoys an advantage. There's nothing loving in the gesture, trust me. If he had his way, I'm sure he would put you on patrols until your beard was grey and have your Elf banished to boot. He would allow it only if he was sure your loyalty remained strong to him, and myself, and that you would be able to express some sway over Thranduil.” 

Ori and Legolas are now speaking quietly to one another, though the Valar knows what about. Fíli does not miss how Gimli's eyes stray towards Legolas now, or the longing in the gaze. “I would do as my king commanded, you know that.” 

“I do, but Thorin is not me.” 

“And you will be my king one day,” Gimli reminds him. “You know me, Fíli.” He reaches out, as Fíli mirrors his arm, and the two of the clasp one another's arms. He does know Gimli, better than he knows almost anyone else. Legolas might be an issue between them, but Fíli will simply have to trust that Gimli knows what he's doing. 

As he releases his cousin though, he cannot shake the foreboding off. Legolas is an Elf, and Gimli is a Dwarf. Their union is not the way of things, and Fíli cannot see how this will end well. 

Now is not the time to worry over these things though. Later, when things are finalised, then he will worry. 

They manage to pass an enjoyable evening together, the four of them, Fíli and Ori lingering until midnight. Once they leave Gimli's home though, Fíli leads them only a little ways towards the palace before he turns them down another street, and up the steps of a dark town house built into the underside of the mountain. One servant awaits them at the door, showing the entryway to be lit already in anticipation of them. 

Fíli dismisses them once he takes the lamp, and the Dwarf scurries off back to their own bed, wherever it might be. 

Almost everything is covered in dust cloths, great white shapes rising out of patterned rugs that are barely discernible in the dim light. Everything looks to be in decent conditions though, nothing crumbling away or too shabby when he lifts up the cloths to check beneath. The furniture isn't nearly as fine as what he has in his rooms in the palace, but he's never been too easy on his chairs or couches anyway. Probably for the best they're already a bit worn. 

“Who did you say lived here before?” Ori asks from another room.

“I didn't, but it was my father's sister,” Fíli answers, joining him, widening his eyes as his own lamp casts more light in the room. “Fuck me, but that is ugly.” The room has been papered in an eye-searing shade of yellow that reminds Fíli of egg yolks. “This will have to be redone.” 

Ori nods, and moves on, up the staircase. They have a carpet running down them, the pattern likely rubies, but as ugly as the yellow paper. “And this will have to go,” Fíli adds. He couldn't look at it every day and not want to burn it. 

There's silence at the top of stairs, and Ori is not on the landing when Fíli gets there. He searches for Ori's light, and finds him in a bedroom, an eyebrow raised as he looks up at the wall above the bed. “Your aunt had very interesting taste in art.” 

“Yes, she did.” It's all Fíli can think to say for a moment, but finally he manages, “Why would someone want that above their bed?”

“Inspiration?” Ori suggests, holding his lamp up higher. “It's very well-done. She must have imported it from the west. That's not an eastern style.” 

“Is that how they do it in the west?” Fíli asks, though he's not looking at the painting. No, Ori has allowed his shawl to fall down inside the house, and Fíli can see the back of his neck. The bare skin begs for a kiss, so Fíli does as it asks, but then the knob of Ori's spine asks for one too, and then there's nothing to be done but set his lamp down and pay attention to the whole area. 

Under his hands, Ori shivers, and tips his head back to rest on Fíli's shoulder so Fíli can find the rest of his neck beneath his beard, the shawl falling to the ground in the process. Ori's lamp is placed down as well, and then there is nothing in his way at all as he presses himself all along Ori's back, hard and wanting now. 

“We should get back,” he manages after a moment, because they really should, so that they can finish this somewhere more appropriate. 

Instead, he feels Ori laugh against him, and his husband pulls away so that he can tug the dust cloth off the bed. Fíli can hardly see the pattern in the dark, but he's sure it's as garish as the rest of the house has been shown to be. That hardly matters when Ori is taking off his shoes and trousers, showing his bare legs in the dark room as he sits on the bed. It's a tall bed, and his feet don't touch the floor. 

“You're serious.” Fíli cannot quite believe he is until he comes closer and finds Ori's legs around his waist. “Oh, you are. You want to have sex in a dark, deserted house full of dirty artwork.” He's had sex in odder places, but it's somehow absurd to think of having Ori here. 

“You don't want to?” Ori releases him, and seems to mean to push off from the bed, his face red even in the dark. “I'm sorry, I was only playing.” He sounds genuinely hurt, but for why, Fíli can't fathom. He grabs Ori around the waist and hitches him back up onto the bed, close enough to the edge that Fíli can stand between his legs.

“We don't have anything,” Fíli says, but Ori nods at the door that likely leads to a bathroom, so Fíli leaves him to look. There's not much, but there are a few toiletries left, one of which is a bottle half-full of thick, fragrant oil. 

Well, there's no point in arguing with such good luck. 

Ori has lit a fire in the grate when Fíli rejoins him, and the sight of him standing there, in just his shirt, hard and wanting Fíli, is enough to silence any other second thoughts. Fíli still has his boots on by the time he pushes inside of Ori, but Ori doesn't seem to care at all. He tightens his fingers in Fíli's hair and keens, pulling on his braids just enough it stings, encourages him all the more. 

“I want -” Ori gasps, and rises against Fíli. “I want it harder, please, Fíli,” and here he almost shouts, because Fíli is only too happy to does as he asks. His thoughts are burning in a way he's never felt them before, jealousy and possessiveness colouring every action. He wants to mark Ori up, inside and out, wants to remind Ori that he's Fíli's now, that he'll always be Fíli's. 

They're making an awful racket, the headboard of the little bed beating against the wall in time with them, the sounds they're both making. Fíli can't seem to still his tongue, and his thoughts come pouring out as he takes Ori's wrists and pins them above his head, using his other hand to force Ori's hips up a bit higher so that he goes in yet deeper. “I've wanted to fuck you from the first day I saw you, when I put that betrothal ring on you, and when you crawled into my lap that day, I swear, I've never wanted to be inside someone more.” Stupid thing to say, stupid, embarrassing thing, but Ori's legs tighten around his waist.

“I wanted it,” Ori confesses, his head thrown back as Fíli bites the skin there, sucking hard so that there will be a mark later, one anyone might see, so that they'll know what went on tonight. “If you had asked, I would have gotten on my knees for you there, I would have, and I shouldn't have, I just wanted you, wanted you inside of me. I would have spread my legs for you in that room, if you'd wanted, I just -”

They're both out of sensible words, Fíli fucking Ori so hard that a small part of his brain worries over the bed, while the rest of him preens in pride at the way Ori is shouting through it, every thrust tearing a new noise out of him, until finally, Ori is babbling through a mess of, “Yes, Fíli, there, don't stop, don't, yes, I just -!” Untouched, he spills between them, and Fíli hardly stops at all as he works towards his own finish. 

He needs to pull out, he remembers. He absolutely needs to pull out. 

Just when he starts to though, intending to take himself in hand and spill across Ori's stomach, Ori's legs tighten around him, his voice rough as he demands, “In me, finish in me, I want it, I want you, I want _us_ , oh, Fíli, yes,” and Fíli obeys, letting himself come in just a few more shallow thrusts, Ori hot around him as he does it. 

He falls forward onto the bed, bracing himself on his arms as Ori winds his own around Fíli's neck, and kisses him, opening his mouth to Fíli. After a minute of that, Fíli manages to pull out, but even though he's just barely finished, already, the sight of Ori beneath him, his pupils blown wide and his breath coming in pants, and the thought of his own seed inside of Ori even now, it's all building up inside of him. 

“Shouldn't have done that,” Fíli says uselessly after a few minutes, even as his cock begins to harden again against Ori's thigh. “We have to be careful.”

Ori nods, and Fíli feels him against his stomach, feels him stirring again for Fíli.

“We have to be careful,” Fíli repeats himself, even as he slide back between Ori's legs. 

“Practice makes perfect,” Ori says. “Now fuck me again.”

Fíli's never heard Ori say that word, never heard Ori say anything like that at all, and indeed he's turning red underneath of Fíli. The fire is back though, coursing through Fíli's blood as he guides himself back inside roughly, earning himself a high-pitched sound from Ori. 

“Say it again,” he commands, wanting to hear it. “Again, Ori, say it. Tell me what you want.”

“Fuck me,” Ori says, stuttering only a little as Fíli thrusts. “Fuck me, Fíli.” 

“Tell me,” again, because he loves how it sounds in Ori's mouth.

“Fuck me,” Ori obeys, though Fíli's not sure who exactly is following orders here. He pulls Fíli back down, as Fíli thrusts hard, and whispers in Fíli's ear, “Fuck me this whole night, and come inside of me every time.” He sounds half-afraid, and Fíli is as well, but it's as though his mind refuses to see sense. 

In the morning, there's a crack in the headboard, and Fíli laughs as they dress and make their escape.

When Ori sees what he's laughing at, he blushes, but then declares, “It was ugly any way.”

“That is was,” Fíli agrees, and follows him out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I saw _Desolation of Smaug_ , and now I ship Kíli/Tauriel like burning. Also, I learned something from it: Legolas likes the gingers.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ori and his brothers. 
> 
> Ori and Bilbo.
> 
> Ori and Frerin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My laptop and I are not agreeing with one another. 
> 
> This makes me feel emotions.

Over the course of the next week, Ori occupies himself with his given tasks. He talks to the Elves, makes himself friendly and available, and shows Bilbo around Erebor, answering all the questions he can. It turns out there are a lot of questions too, and Bilbo writes them all down in a curious script that Ori has never seen before. When he stares, Bilbo says, “Oh, it's shorthand,” and doesn't elaborate.

Ori isn't sure what to make of that.

He's even less sure of what to do with Fíli though, so Bilbo and the Elves it is. He's hardly seen Fíli since that night in their future house, and he rather likes it that way. The things he had said still make him blush and cringe, and all he can blame them on is the wine he'd indulged in at Gimli's home. Not to mention what he had allowed, _encouraged_. He'll be very lucky if they haven't gotten themselves into trouble already. 

As for the sex itself, that had been...oh. Well. Ori had not known those things about himself, but now that he does, he's quite frankly terrified of finding out any more.

Still, when he had woken up to a carved box wrapped in pretty fabric on Fíli's side of the bed instead of his husband and found a set of bracelets set within, he'd worn them every day since. They're solid pieces, gold with black stripes of varying widths in a pattern, narrowing where they loop over the inside of his wrist until the ends meet with two dark, smooth sapphires right over his veins. They're the prettiest things he's ever owned, and Fíli had smiled when he'd seen Ori wearing them. 

Another gift had arrived too, a set of golden hair clasps designed to resemble lace, showing off the skill of the maker. They're from Corin, the jeweller he had hitched a ride with into town, along with a note implying that she thought he was lacking in finery, and to enjoy this example of her work. The work is good, and Ori makes a note to himself to thank her, and see if he could find her some more business. 

So now he looks rather fine as he walks down to the Jades' Guild. It had been Kíli who asked it, and to his credit, he hadn't flirted even a little with Ori. He had asked about Tauriel though, in a very roundabout away, until Ori promised to have them meet. In any case, the guild business had seemed to occupy his thoughts, as he told Ori about how upset they were over a slight from the Jewellers regarding territory. The Weavers too were having a dispute with the Jewellers, so he intended to visit them both, and see what members of his family could be reasoned with. 

He's greeted at the door by a cousin of some sort, though he cannot recall their name or exactly how they're related. 

“Danori, daughter of Dori, cousin to your mother Glori,” the Dwarf explains, laughing a bit. “No worries, I would not remember you were you not so famous now. So what brings a visit from you, your highness? Looking for a little advice?”

“No thank you,” Ori feels his voice catch, and his cousin raises her dark eyebrows in interest. 

“You sure?” she cajoles. “I remember your brother, Dori. Fussiest creature I ever met in my life. Wouldn't be surprised if you were still a bit in the dark about certain things.” Her eyes flick down to Ori's stomach meaningfully, but then she seems to take notice of his bracelets. “Or perhaps not.” Ori feels as though he's going to catch fire here and now, and Danori must see, because her teasing ceases, and she asks more seriously, “Did you need to speak with someone then?”

“I was hoping to speak to a few, actually,” Ori says, as Danori leads him inside the guild house. The Jades' House is all opulence and luxury, full of soft rugs and gauzy curtains hanging from the golden domed ceiling. The doors and walls are thick, but Ori can still hear the sounds of pleasure around them until after they've climbed the stairs and made their way back to the offices. 

There he finds his first cousins, Soeri and Esori, their identical faces lighting up when they see him, along with Turi and Mari, also cousins. They sit with other Dwarrows he knows by sight, all of them clad in fine silks and other expensive fabrics, their colours bright and eye-catching, even as they sit going over paperwork. It looks as though he's walked into a budget meeting.

“Well, look at you,” an older Jade by the name of Cordin says, standing and embracing Ori. Cordin has been a great friend of Dori's for as long as Ori can remember, his long blue beard and hair now going streaky with pure white at the roots. “Aren't you a sight like this? I always knew you were a pearl hiding under all those clothes.” 

Ori smiles, but he's not sure what to say to the compliment. Cordin isn't known for over-the-top compliments, but Ori certainly would not call himself such a thing. “My husband might say the same,” he says, because it sounds right and it makes Fíli look good. “But I understand you're not feeling favourable towards him right now?”

“No,” Cordin says, pulling on his beard. “Understand though, little gem, we've heard nothing but ill of him from your brother Dori. Seems you don't agree though. Care to elaborate?” He turns from Ori, walking with his hands clasped behind his back until he finds his seat again, sitting on the right of Mother.

Ori knows her true name, Madrin, but he also knows she's only ever addressed as Mother, the highest rank to achieve in the Jades' Guild. He inclines his head to her respectfully now that he sees her eyes are on him, and she nods back.

Mother is striking, even in her old age. Her long hair and short beard are still as blue as sapphires, her eyes still a vivid blue. The combination makes her more memorable than most of her profession, and now she sits as the head of the guild, due in no small part to those looks. Also due in no small part to her canniness, Ori is sure. This is not a Dwarf to be underestimated, by the look of her.

“Pretty bracelets,” she says, and Ori holds his wrists out to be admired by his cousins and the rest of the room. “Odd, to see a matched set. Like shackles.”

She's asking a question, one Ori knows he must answer. He swallows, and says, “Fíli does not shackle me, Mother. Not unless I ask it of him.” The words scrape over his tongue like glass, but they seem to satisfy Mother. 

“A reminder, then,” she says, now sounding approving. “Nori likes that too, if I recall correctly.”

The whole room laughs at the colour Ori turns, but it's better than their previous judgement. Ori takes an offered seat, crossing his legs underneath him on the floor cushion. Despite her laughter, Mother is watching Ori with an expression somewhere between amused and curious. Whatever it means, he never knows, not brave enough to ask her, and she turns her attention back to the budgets. 

Ori sits with them for an hour or so, allowing their questions about the palace and their admiration of his ring and his bracelets and his hair clasps. Once they seem satisfied that he's all right and not being mistreated, he takes his leave of them, and crosses through the Jewellers' territory. He intends to go the Weavers' Guild, but he makes the effort to find Corin's home. Eventually, he does, but she's not there, so he only leaves a note, thanking her for her gift and telling her of his intention to commission gifts for his brothers. It's the only thing he can think of. What could he give Fíli, after all? Fíli is entitled to more trinkets than Ori can count, and all of them are likely worth more than Ori will ever have in his purse. 

He does not even know Fíli's tastes either, though he could guess if pressed upon. 

The streets are fairly empty around him when he crosses into the Weavers' district, but he can guess why. The smell of the dying process permeates the air, and when he comes upon the waterways, he finds some of the master dyers up to their knees in the cold water. They bark commands at apprentices as they lay out their silks in the water, the current and the apprentices pulling them straight while the masters secure them.

Most of the guild is familiar to him, if not by name then by sight. He's known most of the masters since he was just a babe in a basket, and had grown up with the apprentices. For Dori, the guild has always been in the forefront of his mind, his trade all that stood between the pair of them and poverty while Nori had to be away. What little Nori could earn and send was never enough, and when Nori started to provide much more, Ori had not been stupid about it. He'd known what Nori was doing, and so had Dori, but neither of them were in a position to argue at the time. 

Now things are different, of course. 

The guild house is too busy to even notice him, much less worry over him. Apprentices that still wear plain white stand over the vats, looking on the verge of tears, though Ori doesn't blame them. The process of making dye is far trickier than he can manage, and he leaves them to it. 

He heads downstairs, to the second floor, where the workrooms are. Far in the back, he finds Nori, his brother sitting at a loom with what looks like a blanket already half-done on it. “Commission?” he asks, eyeing the pattern and expensive colours. 

“Aye,” Nori answers, not looking at him. “If you're here to have a go, save it. Dwalin and Dori have already flayed me.” 

“You were being very stupid,” Ori says, leaning on the door frame so as to stay out of the way in case someone needed to come through. “He's Crown Prince of Erebor, you nitwit. What did you think you were going to accomplish?” 

“Can't believe how much like Dori you've turned out.” Nori stands and steps away so he can stretch. His long hair is in some kind of elaborate set of braids that join from his crown to the nape of his neck, before being twisted and shaped into three points that rest along his back. His beard he's done so that another three points rest on his chest, and in the end, it's something like a cape shaped as a six-pointed star, a mirror of his travelling braids. Even Nori's working braids are impressive. 

Ori reads the messages in them, what few there are, and frowns. “Is that an intention knot?”

“For now,” Nori says airily. “We shall see.”

Ori groans, and bangs his head against the stone. “Why must you be so difficult all of the time?”

“I'm not being difficult, I'm being practical.” Nori runs a hand over his hair, and comes to stand beside Ori. “It's not as romantic, me being here all the time. I doubt he'll be as willing to put up with me when he's forced to be around me all the time. He'll see me for what I really am soon enough.”

“You think Dwalin will actually give you up now that he finally has you?” Ori thinks he might shake Nori, as Dori has done once or twice in the past. “You're being an idiot. He loves you.” 

“I never said he didn't,” Nori replies, shrugging. “But let's not pretend I'm not damaged goods. I can't even...” His second brother seems a bit lost for a moment, before he says, “There would be no benefit to wedding me. Not now. I have nothing to give him now.” 

Ori rubs at one of his bracelets, and hates Frerin again suddenly. Not his usual, everyday hatred, but new and fresh as he remembers poor Nori, drunk on three bottles of wine with Ori trying to get him into bed, the whole, sad truth spilling out of him as he leaned all his weight on Ori. “Balin has children,” he says. 

“And that means Dwalin will never want one of his own?” Nori scoffs. “Don't be stupid, Ori. It doesn't suit you.” 

He wants to say that Dwalin loves Nori, because that's true. Ori knows nothing if not that. But just this morning he had woken to Fíli dressing, and taking a moment to sit beside Ori, placing a hand on Ori's stomach with a thoughtful look on his face. He had said nothing, only ducked down to brush a kiss across Ori's brow, and Ori had said nothing in return. He hadn't known what to say. 

They haven't been careful. They haven't been careful at all, and they're both the right age. If Ori ever will, now is when it is most likely. Not that he couldn't when he was older, but most families started young, to ensure more children. The more, the better, supposedly. 

“I'm frightened,” Ori whispers in the space between himself and his brother. 

“So was I,” Nori whispers back, his eyes bright. “But I wanted it anyway. I allowed it because I wanted it to happen. Then...” He doesn't finish. He doesn't have to. Ori knows how the story goes, knows that Nori did not know who the sire had been, that he had not been able to bring himself to potentially bear one made from fear and hatred instead of one made from love. That he had not bore it at all, in the end. 

Ori knows this. 

“I'll not blame you if you decide this is what you want,” Nori says, looking away. “His Royal Highness is...well, I suppose I could see what you see in him.” It's the most Ori could ever ask Nori to grant, and it shocks him to hear it. “And the idea of one of your own is alluring, I admit. It feels like a promise.”

“I might have already made that promise,” Ori says, and waits for judgement. 

“You're joking,” he hears, and he looks up at his brother and the incredulous expression on his way. “You little idiot, you know how one is made. Dori and I told you everything. How hard is it to tell him to pull out before he finishes? Or get him off another way?”

Ori hides his face behind his shawl, and Nori sucks in a breath through his teeth. 

“You _didn't_ ,” Nori hisses. “The sex can't be that good.”

“You don't know that,” Ori replies somewhat defensively. “And I just...I don't know. I don't know what was going through my head, I was just so upset with you and Dori and his mother, and I just wanted something that was all ours, for just then. I don't know why I thought it was a good idea, I know it's not, it's really not, I just...”

“I just cannot believe that you of all people would be so reckless and foolhardy,” Nori admonishes, and Ori begins to regret confiding in him. He should have known Nori was in no mood for any perceived idiocy, and sought out Dori instead. Dori would at least give him comfort. “The thought of you carrying that lineage, it turns my stomach.” Nori spits at the ground, and anger boils up in Ori. 

“You said you would not blame me!” 

“I changed my mind!” Nori tugs at his braids, hunching his shoulders down. 

“Dwalin is of their line,” Ori reminds him harshly, feeling nasty. 

He could have struck Nori, and had the same effect, but though he feels guilty for it, he's not any less upset with Nori. 

“I need to see our uncle,” Ori says, under his breath, before he makes his escape back into the halls of the guild. Nori does not call after him, but Ori doesn't expect him too either. The offence he's just given is more than he thought himself capable of, but for Mahal's sake, could for once the topic stay on Ori, and not Dori or Nori's feelings on the subject? He wants them to ask how he feels, wants them to see him as capable, but still, they both coddle and suffocate him. 

Fíli believes Ori capable, has trusted him with finding out what he might about their Hobbit emissary, and befriending Thranduil's people. He thinks Ori is smart, thinks him clever. He _trusts_ Ori. 

“Well, that is quite the expression on your face,” a voice says, and Ori turns to see Shiori. His cousin has all his hair gathered under a plain blue hat that clings all along his hairline, and without it, the resemblance between Nori and him is somewhat diminished, especially with Shiori's much shorter, darker beard, and the plain, tight braids he wears it in. He's carrying a basket of potatoes, and he must see the expression on Ori's face, because he says, “Don't you start too, or you'll be in the soup with them.” 

“I could carry them,” Ori offers, reaching for the basket, only to get a snide look. 

“My, Hrafn, I almost didn't recognize you,” Shiori says, and holds tight to the basket, his expression warning Ori to drop it. “What are you doing down here, then?”

“Making nice,” Ori replies, deciding to let his cousin be as they walk down the hall, in the direction of the kitchens. “Prince Kíli said there was unrest.”

Shiori raises an eyebrow. “That's a rather polite way to put it.”

“How would you put it?” Ori doesn't think he wants to know, but Shiori is one of the least dramatic of his many cousins, and he'll be the one to give the most matter-of-fact answer. 

“Most of your family is a bit convinced that His Royal Highness keeps you locked up in the palace, using you for his pleasure as he pleases.” Shiori sighs, sounding put-upon. “This is what happens when you teach idiots to read, and all they can afford are copper dreadfuls.” 

Ori cannot disagree, but it's mean-spirited, so he feels a bit harsh for chuckling. “They don't really think that, do they?” 

“We're talking about the same people who believe that mixing dye vats will bring bad luck on the house,” Shiori reminds him, turning into the kitchens. There are five cooks already at work, apprentices to judge from the white cloths they bind their hair back with. They're chopping vegetables, the lot of them, and when Shiori slams the basket of potatoes down on the scrubbed wooden worktable, they all cringe. “All right then, which one of you do I hate the most today? I've forgotten.” 

The immediate finger-pointing towards the unlucky sacrifice is somewhat comical, and Ori smiles to himself as the apprentice shuffles towards the potatoes with a scowl. 

“Actually, as a matter of fact, I hate you too,” Shiori says, indicating the lone redhead. “Help that useless twit, and do try not to injure yourselves, or they'll be wasted. The rest of you, why are your knives moving so slow? Have you been stricken with disease, or are you just as utterly stupid as I thought? Get it done, we need to start the evening supper now, not when they're hungry.” 

“Yes, Cook,” they chorus, sounding suitably cowed. 

Ori follows Shiori, his face reddening as the apprentices take notice of him. Shiori sees and barks, “Oi, do you want to go back to the Kitchens? To Master Dagrin?” 

“No, Cook!” Their eyes go back to their work, hands moving furiously. 

Once they're out of earshot, Ori says, “Oh, but they're just children. Why do you have to frighten them so?”

“How else are they supposed to learn?” Shiori asks, inspecting something underneath a cloth. “The only reason your master never yelled at you was because they knew who you would be one day, otherwise you would have been practising your letters until you cried as well.” 

He doesn't think that's true, but he doesn't say anything. There's little point in arguing when someone is so sure of that they're right, in his experience. 

“Come on then, make yourself useful and help me serve the tea,” Shiori directs, and Ori obeys, taking the tray of biscuits. There's not much variety at this time of year, not down here, and Ori feels an odd knot of guilt over the blackberry jam he'd been served with his breakfast this morning. 

As he follows Shiori to the main offices, he spies Nori in the hall further down, standing with Dori and gesticulating wildly. Oh, he's going to catch it later, he just knows it. Nori's gone and tattled on him to Dori, and now Dori will fuss over the slight, and get upset over the pair of them fighting. 

“I'll trade you my sisters, if you like,” Shiori teases, seeing where Ori is looking. 

“No thank you,” Ori squeaks, and hurriedly follows after him. 

Ori's luck changes a bit for the better, because he finds not only his uncle, but several of the other masters of the guild. They're comparing dyed pieces of silk in varying shades of red to older ones, and he sees they're trying to match them to years previous in the colour books. 

“Hello then, what's this?” Lori, his mother's elder brother, raises an eyebrow at him in interest as Ori sets the tray down where Shiori indicates. “What brings you here, little gem? Did you manage to steal the keys from your jailer?” 

“That's not funny,” Ori says, even as he allows his uncle to touch their heads together. “Fíli would never do that.” 

“Oh, so he's only Fíli to you?” one of his aunts asks airily. When Ori looks at her, she winks. “As far as jailers go, he's not a bad one. I might have taken the promise up if I knew he'd look like that by the time he grew up.” 

One of his mother's other siblings, Clori, snorts. “Aye, if you'd of told me those two little sheepdogs would end up so handsome, I'd of called you blind. The younger one still looks a bit like a sheepdog, mind.” 

“Have a seat then,” the guild master, Bashur, surprisingly not related to the 'Ri, says, nodding his head at an empty spot at the table. “You've got good eyes, little one, if I remember right. See if you might lend them to us, and we'll all sit a spell.” 

They have questions, as Ori thought they would, about the palace and what Ori knows about the Jewellers and their apparently hostile bid for more territory, at the expense of the Weavers and the Jades. Those questions call for more detail than Ori knows, but he tries, and though it rankles him somewhat, he reminds them that the Princess Dís has always been a fair overseer of their affairs. And she has, really, so it's not a lie.

“That might be true, but they've raised the tax on silk,” one of his cousins says darkly. “Crown might be wanting a bit for the coffers, and the Jewellers will pay quite a bit for the land they're wanting.” 

“I don't think that's why they raised the tax on silk,” Ori argues, struggling to recall the sensible bits of Fíli's ranting. “It was either silk or food staples, and Fíli did not want anyone to go hungry. Something about copper, I don't recall.” 

“Copper?” One weaver with hair almost as light as Fíli's raises an eyebrow. “Something is going on with the copper?”

“That's not what I said,” Ori replies smartly. “Don't you twist my words, Adin.” The name comes up from somewhere Ori can't say, a vague memory. “The taxes had to be raised, so Fíli thought luxury goods would be the only ones that wouldn't hurt anyone.” 

“A higher tax means no one will commission silk pieces, and then they shall get no taxes at all,” another weaver dismisses. 

“That's not true and you know it,” Shiori interjects. “Your fine patrons won't go a spring season without new silks. They'll hem and haw, but in the end, you'll have your commissions, same as you do every year. Better that food taxes stay low, so that no one goes to bed with an empty belly.” 

“That's all well and good for you, you charmed a lord into marrying you, though small wonder how,” one of their aunts says, eyeing Shiori's stomach. When Shiori bristles, she scoffs and says, “Do not thing you are the first to find yourself carrying just to win a spouse, Shiori.” 

“That is _not_ what happened, you old hag,” Shiori spits, and storms out without another word. 

“’Twas cruel, that was,” Bashur says, stroking his beard. “Unless you want our food poisoned, I suggest you keep those theories to yourself, Tori.” 

Tori scoffs again, but she falls silent. Ori too stays quiet, unsure of what to say in defence of Shiori. He can hardly defend himself. What has he done that is so different? 

The hour sounds from somewhere within the halls, and Ori gratefully stands. “Forgive me, but I have an appointment,” he says, politely excusing himself. “I'll see you all again soon.”

“Let's hope you bring better news,” Bashur says, inclining his head respectfully. “Blessings upon the King and future King's house, Ori.” 

The words put his relatives' backs up, but Ori only nods, acknowledging that he is seen as being of Fíli's house now, at least to Bashur. Whether he means good or ill by it though, Ori can't tell. A 'Ri would have a place at their table; Fíli's house does not.

Shiori is in the hall when he emerges, being fussed over by Dori while Nori lists to the side, smoking his pipe and staring off into nothing. 

“You should be resting,” Dori insists, hovering as he always does. “Hrafn approves of you working? I can hardly believe that.” 

“Luckily for us all, I don't need his permission.” Shiori has the look of a good sulk on his face. Nori makes the same face when he's going to have one. “Look now, here's Ori. I told you he'd just be another moment or so.” 

Nori glances at Ori, and puffs a smoke ring. It feels like a very petulant smoke ring. Nori could make a slice of bread look petulant. 

Shiori excuses himself, ducking away back to his kitchens Ori guesses. Once he's gone, Dori's shoulders fall in a defeated sort of way as he faces Ori. He even seems somewhat uncharacteristically sheepish as he says, “Ah, our little mouse. Yes, I'm afraid we _both_ owe you an apology.” 

“I never said -”

“If you please, Nori,” Dori warns, and Nori makes a face, not looking at either of them. Dori hems and haws for a moment before continuing with, “We did not represent your family as we should have. I am so sorry for that, and more so if it caused you trouble. I was just...we are just...it's hard for us to let it go. You're so young, Ori, you and Fíli both. You don't remember how it was, after everything went wrong, how awful it was. I understand that you like him a great deal, and perhaps he cares for you as well, as you say.” 

Nori snorts derisively, but whatever his thoughts are, he keeps them to himself for once. 

“But no matter what's true, what Nori tells me troubles me.” Dori's expression is pained, and Ori squirms under it. “You are both too young. You especially.” 

“I am old enough to be married, to go to war,” Ori argues. “I'm old enough to make my own choices, Dori. Just because the choice isn't the one you would make, doesn't mean it's the wrong one.” 

“You're right,” Dori says, in that condescending way he has when he thinks he knows best. It irritates Ori, because it's not fair. He's an adult, grown enough to be thrown to the wolves and expected to survive. He has survived too, and he'll do what he thinks is best. “But pyrite love is fool's love, Ori. It has no value, and the shine will wear off.” 

That hurts. It hurts more than it should, because sometimes now when Fíli holds Ori, Ori feels secure, feels content if not happy, and he thinks he and Fíli might have found a vein of gold in all of this. For Dori, the person who has loved Ori best over the years, to so easily dismiss it, hurts. Worse, he might see what Ori is blind to. Dori might be fussy and overprotective and downright annoying at times, but he's rarely wrong. 

“I did not lie with him for the first few months, and he never asked,” Ori says, his arms around himself, and perhaps it's more than either of them wanted to know. “But we spoke easily, and he was interested, genuinely interested, in my drawings and my life. He told me things in turn. He was so polite, the first time he kissed me. He seemed scared.”

His brothers say nothing, but Nori's thoughts are far away now. Ori can see it in him, the way he distantly takes his pipe from his mouth to breathe, fingers loose around the base. 

“I care for him,” Ori says to both of them, with as much strength as he can muster. “And you're right. It might be just pyrite. But I have an...obligation. And I'd rather it be done with affection than a sense of duty.” 

Neither of them seem to have an argument for that for the time being, but both of his brothers could frustrate marble if they put their heads to it. They'll cede the ground for now, but he can expect them to find something to say sooner or later. 

“I'll be careful from now on,” Ori promises, more to himself than them. “But if it's already happened, there's little I can do about it.” He dares to look at Nori, and finds his brother's eyes on him. “Nothing I _will_ do about it.”

Dori clearly does not approve, but there's little Ori can do about that either.

♦

“Ten years past, so it must have been old Primrose running the inn then,” Bilbo says, puffing on his pipe in the sunshine. He holds it between his teeth as he bends at the waist to inspect a flower. “I've never seen this before. What do you call it?”

“Dragon-tooth mint,” Ori replies, bending too to touch a leaf. “See the leaves? I wouldn't recommend eating it. Has a bite.” He stands straight, securing his shawl, and the two of them walk on through the park. “I don't remember the name of the innkeeper, sorry. We stayed in many inns. I remember though, your women are all named for flowers and plants, right?”

“Sometimes the men are too,” Bilbo says, straightening as well. “Mostly the women though, you're quite right. Ten years past, you say, but you look like you're hardly older than a tween to me.” 

“By your people's reckoning, I am hardly older than what you would call a tween.” Ori remembers their word for the place between child and adult, having found it interesting enough to write down in his notebook. “I became an adult just a few months ago, right before I was married.” 

“Right before?” Bilbo asks, sounding astounded. “My, but that is young to be married. Is it not the same for you?” 

“No, our marriage is rather young by our own people.” The park is mostly dead now, in the winter, only the evergreens and the hardier mountain plants pulling through. They ascend a staircase built into the side of the mountain so they can reach another terrace, both of them holding on to the wall for balance. “Fíli is a little older than me though, and they wanted him married as soon as possible, so Kíli could be married soon too. Our king has never married or sired children of his own, you see, and neither has his younger brother. The princess' sons are all there is, so they must sire children.”

“But you are...” Bilbo sounds very, very confused now, as he scrunches up his face and tentatively asks, “Forgive me, but your husband referred to you as a 'he'. Did I misunderstand something?”

“You didn't,” Ori answers, smiling. “Things are different with Dwarrows though. Whether you might sire or bear does not always depend on whether or not you're a lad or a lass or whatever mix a Dwarf might be.” 

Bilbo blinks, and takes a few puffs of his pipe as he seems to mull the information over. “Well.” He puffs a bit more, and pulls one of his braces, rocking back and forth on his heels. “Well.” 

Ori waits, and they walk a bit further. 

“So is that why you wear the shawl?” Bilbo asks, after a time. “Only I've noticed some women wearing it as well. Young lasses, but never the older ones.” 

“It means I'm married without children,” Ori says, stopping when Bilbo starts to investigate a bit of wolf's paw. “Though if I reach a certain age, I can choose to stop wearing it. It'll mean Fíli and I have chosen not to have any.” 

“Fascinating,” Bilbo replies, touching the spiky arms of the wolf's paw. “Our women do something similar, you know. An unmarried lass, she wears her hair down, but a married woman, she wears hers up in a bobtail. But if a lass becomes lady and she's never found anyone to marry, she'll wear it up as well.” He looks at Ori from the corner of his eye. “You Dwarves, you marry sames often then? Not just opposites?”

“I suppose.” Ori shrugs, frowning. “We don't have as many women as the other races, you see, so more often us lads will find a partner amongst our own sort. My cousin though, she married another lass, but her wife can sire, so they have three children between them already. Dwarves don't really see things that way.” When Bilbo doesn't reply, Ori turns to him, frowning. “Does it bother you?”

“No, no, I'm afraid if it did I'd be a bit of hypocrite,” he explains, biting the end of his pipe again. “These things aren't spoken of in the Shire though. To see a prince with a husband is just...a tad startling to me, is all.” 

“You do not marry sames in the Shire?” Ori is a bit puzzled by that. 

“No, never,” Bilbo says, half-laughing. “I'm afraid with Elrond's people, I could not always tell, but perhaps they are the same as you.”

“Likely. Thranduil's people marry sames as often as they marry opposites.” Thranduil's own daughter is married to another woman, Ori has found in his research. He doesn't divulge this though, unsure of what Thranduil wants known of his family to Elrond. Probably nothing, to judge from what Fíli says of the two lords' relationship. Not to mention Gimli and Legolas, and their bond. “How often were you amongst Lord Elrond's people?”

“I have never truly lived in Rivendell, in all actuality.” Bilbo finishes his pipe, and puts it out, emptying the ash onto the roots of an obliging pine. “I have travelled there often, because of my mother. I was surprised at Lord Elrond's request, but I owe him more than I can say, and besides that, my mother would have liked me to have such an adventure I thought.” 

“Your mother has passed?” Ori asks, feeling a bit awkward at the question. 

“Yes, she has.” For a moment, Bilbo seems very still, but then he only huffs to himself and speaks in a perfectly level voice. “She was quite the adventurer herself, before she married my father. Once I was grown, she thought to take me with her on one of her ramblings, especially after my father died. She grew very ill though, and I'm sorry to say that was my first adventure altogether, taking her to Rivendell to seek Elrond's help. He was very fond of her, you see. There was little he could do but make her comfortable, in the end. He did make her very comfortable though, and I was grateful for it. She was in no pain when she finally left us.” 

Ori lets him have a moment, as Dori sometimes needs when he talks about their mother or his own father. “My mother died when I was very young. I hardly remember her. My brothers and my eldest brother's wife raised me up.” 

He means only to give them some common ground, but he's surprised when Bilbo says, “Seems to me that situation is a bit more difficult.” When Ori frowns at him, he goes on, puffing his pipe at intervals while he strolls along, his bare feet seemingly not bothered by the cold. “I had my mother for my whole childhood and a good bit of time after I became an adult. I have memories of her to keep close. To have nothing at all seems somewhat worse.” 

“I don't think so,” Ori disagrees. “Maybe because you can't imagine not knowing your mother. My eldest brother, he misses her sometimes, but you see, there's really nothing for me to miss. I never knew her, nor my sire. My law-sister though, I miss her very much still.”

It's still hard to think of her, especially now when Ori thinks she could provide counsel to him. His memories of her are small and probably half-dreamed, but what he does have is precious. 

“You've had much loss in your life then, haven't you?” Bilbo asks, in a kind way. “Missing so many people can be hard. I have grown used to it, I'm afraid.” 

Ori thinks on the cousins he lost when the red fever swept through, the family and friends that died in the Battle of the Lake, and more still, the ones gone in the War of Three. They had almost counted Jori among the dead before he finally came home, ragged and wounded and exhausted, but alive. 

Fíli too had been wounded, his arm in a sling and a bandage around his head as he walked through the streets with the rest of his forces. Ori had watched him from the side, packed in tight on either side by everyone looking for family members, rushing forward to help Jori when he spotted his cousin.

_“Fíli saved us all,” Jori had said, his voice rough. “That's my king, there.”_

And Ori had looked at him, dirty and weary and scowling in the way he always seemed to when he was thinking, a trait Ori know knew he shared with Thorin, and he had found his mind shifting somewhat from the truths he had always known.

He pulls his shawl a little tighter when the wind blows. Today is a knitted piece, dark green, the warmest one he has. How Bilbo stands it in bare feet, he'll never understand. Hobbits are such funny creatures. 

“Well, you and Fíli have found something good, despite it all. I hear he's quite the war hero. Had to have seen some awfulness, poor chap. I hear more about the king of course. Seems he's quite popular.” Bilbo seems to just be making conversation, but Ori cannot be sure. 

“Thorin is a good king,” he says, because that's true, and until he knows what Bilbo is really after, that's all Bilbo needs to know. “And Fíli is quite the hero, you're right. He saved my cousin's life, during the last one, the War of Three.” 

“Ah, and your gratitude grew to love. Very romantic.” Bilbo is pleased with this assumption, that much is clear, but Ori corrects him anyway. 

“Our marriage was arranged, from when we were children. I was always going to marry Fíli.” It immediately seems to have been the wrong thing to say, so Ori quickly adds, “Not that we do not care for one another. Only that's why we were married so young, because we'd been engaged nearly all our lives already.” None of it is a lie exactly, so it doesn't bother Ori too much.

Bilbo puffs on his pipe, and when it is finished, dumps out the ashes and wipes it clean with a cloth before putting it in his pocket. They walk a bit longer, Bilbo with his hands clasped behind his back, Ori twisting the ends of his shawl in his fingers, until finally, Bilbo says, “That brings me to my purpose, actually. The War of Three, as you call it. You do not want to hear what Lord Elrond refers to it as, I suspect.” 

“It's not very respectful, is it?” 

“It's not terribly insulting,” Bilbo tuts. “Lord Thranduil refuses all missives from Lord Elrond though, and when my lord sent an emissary, they found the very forest refusing them entry.” It's odd, Ori has to admit to himself as he listens. Why is Thranduil so dead-set against any of the other Elven Lords knowing anything about the war? There must be a reason, but it could be any number of things. Elves live so long, it could take Ori a lifetime and a half to find it on his own. “What we do know is that there was a rebellion amongst your people. We understood that. It was a Dwarf matter though, and ally or no, Thranduil had no reason to help you. Only then, we hear that Elves and Orcs attacked Erebor, and next we hear that Thranduil is still allied with Erebor and fighting by Thorin's side.” 

Ori remains silent, determined to hear every detail Bilbo knows before he divulges any. He made no mention of the assassination attempt on Lord Thranduil's family, or that the Elves were Wood Elves from Thranduil's own realm. 

“You have not asked His Majesty these questions?” Ori wants to know what Thorin has said, if anything. Bilbo and Thorin have held council multiple times now, according to Fíli, in what few snatches of conversation they've had. “Has he answered?”

“Thorin distracts me from the subject, when he can,” Bilbo says, but he's smiling. “A warrior and a scholar, on top of being a king. I can't imagine when he finds time to sleep. Still, I would not trade what he's shown me. Dwarf literature is just...frankly, _overwhelming_. All this history, these stories, and I had never heard so much as whisper of them. The forging of the stars, for example, truly fascinating -”

“His Majesty told you that story?” Ori interrupts, somewhere between surprised and shocked. It's not a secret story, per say, but Ori has always known it's not one easily told to non-Dwarfs. “Really?” 

“Yes?” Bilbo fingers his pipe in his pocket, but does not take it out again. “He gave some books, you see, from your library, and he marked some for me. I favoured the poetry more than I like to admit. Quite different from Elven, completely different rhythms and...ah...have I said something wrong? Only, I was only asking after the histories, but then I saw the library, and it's truly marvellous, really, and he recommended some things, and I...well...my, are you quite all right?” 

“Fine,” Ori replies, feeling his voice catch. “Just a bit winded. The stairs seem twice as high today.” 

“Oh, I'm so sorry for dragging you all the way up here. Come on then, they're always easier in reverse, and perhaps we can find somewhere to eat?” He turns to descend, and Ori follows, watching Bilbo quizzically as he does. 

He thinks this might count as one of those things Fíli said to tell him about, but he's not sure. Oh, he knew he'd be terrible at this job. Why in the world did he ever think he could do it?

Probably because he'd felt so useless, shut up in his and Fíli's rooms, with no guild work. He'd needed something to do, anything at all, and this hadn't seemed any harder than travelling with the caravans and Nori, picking out the dangerous people and the mostly-safe ones. Now he thinks he'd vastly overestimated his own abilities. 

“So, what did I interrupt you at this morning?” Bilbo asks, startling Ori. They're back within the mountain now, Ori's feet having found a path without much input from his mind. He picks a restaurant nearby, and turns towards it, Bilbo beside him. 

“I was deciding on wallpaper and rugs, and a few pieces of furniture. Fíli has already vetoed everything he hates, and put forward what he likes, so I'm trying to put a house together from it. It's not much, unfortunately, and I'm no good at this. All I know is what we don't like.” Ahead of them, Ori starts to smell food, and Bilbo has visibly perked up. 

“Don't choose anything too bright,” Bilbo advises. “It grows tiring after awhile. If you really like something bright, mind you, only use it in accents. Trust me on this. My mother once thought to paint the whole of the living room this sunshine shade of yellow she adored, but it gave us all a headache after only a month. No, choose soft things for the whole. You'll be better off.” 

Ori huffs, taking it into consideration. It makes sense. “Any suggestions for furniture?” 

“What are you replacing?”

“Some couches, tables,” Ori lists, trying not to blush as he says, “A bed.” 

Bilbo gives him a very telling look, so Ori keeps his own eyes on the ground. 

“Your husband is taller than you. Pick things a little taller than what you are comfortable with. And remember, company furniture is for sitting and admiring. Private furniture though, that's for napping.” He presses a finger against his nose conspiratorially. “And be sure there are ash trays about. Always. Or do you not indulge?” 

“I don't, but Fíli does.” 

“Then mind the ash trays, or you'll find ash in your tea cups,” he says confidently. 

Ori had not even thought of those, but yes, they will have to make sure the house has them in the rooms where Fíli might smoke, which is really every room. Fíli has smoked a pipe in their bed, usually when he's going over paperwork one last time, or, well...sometimes, after they've had sex, Fíli likes to smoke a little, but that puts a bit of warmth in Ori's cheeks, so he doesn't say it aloud. 

Honestly, he's still overwhelmed by the sheer wealth he has access to now. Fíli had hardly given him a budget, merely told him to stay within an amount that Ori can hardly comprehend. He might choose what paper or paint they like without worry, and even update the furniture from their now shabby upholstery, or replace them altogether. Fíli had even said to make sure the bathrooms and kitchen were updated! He hasn't had reliable hot water for most of his life, and now Fíli expects him to understand this kind of money?

“Do you miss your home, in the Shire?” Ori asks, trying to distract himself as they're quickly seated. Thinking of the house still makes his heart beat a bit too fast, and not only because of the work it requires. He can still feel Fíli against him, can still hear himself pleading for what he wanted, to be _fucked_. 

“Of course I do,” Bilbo answers, and Ori shakes the thoughts from his mind.

They're served good, black tea without prompting, and Bilbo puts a dollop of cream and two spoonfuls of sugar in it before he takes a sip. The expression on his face reminds Ori of Dori, and the way he goes on about curing and sifting and brewing.

“Elves do not drink tea,” Bilbo says, once he's taken two sips, his small fingers wrapped around the fine porcelain cup. “Can you believe that? They trade in it, of course, but rare is the Elf who actually drinks it, at least in Elrond's halls.”

“Why not?” Erebor has had a trade with the Eastern merchants for far longer than Ori has been alive, from before Fíli's own grandfather. Tea had been a staple in their household. Not only that, the Elves he and Nori had travelled with had drank tea, along with ginger-honey water and wine. Always wine, of course. 

“Too bitter for them, supposedly,” Bilbo says, with a shrug. “I was never more grateful than to see that tea amongst the serving dishes when I arrived. Do Thranduil's people drink tea, then?”

“As far as I know,” Ori replies. Tauriel and Miro had enjoyed it when they had come for breakfast on the same day Bilbo had arrived, and he's seen Legolas and his elder brother drink it as well. “The Elves I once lived amongst, from the East, they drank tea as well.”

“You lived amongst Elves?” Bilbo catches on the subject, and after that, Ori is asked more questions than he's ever been in his life about those Elves, then the deserts and the East in general, where dark-skinned Dwarves and Elves were the more common sight, and everything else that seems to pop into Bilbo's head. Bilbo confides at one point that he had never seen such a diverse amount of people in his whole life, and that confuses Ori. There are plenty of trading towns near the Shire. Then again, the Shire had been somewhat firm in their self-imposed isolation.

By the time he leaves Bilbo's company, he's actually in a rather cheerful mood. He's been speaking of mostly good memories and stories that made both him and Bilbo laugh. 

So when he finds a hand on his arm, it says much about how far it causes his spirits to plummet. 

There's a moment where he is too frightened to move at all, the hand familiar, with the ring with the three emeralds set in it worn on the middle finger. He thinks of Nori, of his fear and hatred, of all he's lost. Ori thinks of these things, as the other Golden Prince smiles down at him. 

“Hello again, Ori,” Frerin says, his eyes distant. “Allow me to offer my apologies for missing you at dinner the other evening.”

Ori is afraid. 

And yet, he jerks his arm from Frerin's hand and says, “If you ever touch me or my brothers again, I'll put a sword through you. I'm not scared of you. I'm _not_.” Because Frerin is old, he sees now. Frerin is old, and broken from the madness that had made him force Nori into his bed. “I'm not afraid!”

It's not quite true, but Ori doesn't care. It's the words that count, the words that make Frerin release him entirely and back away from Ori with a sickly cast to his features. 

“Perhaps you should be,” he says, and then he's gone, disappearing down a hallway and leaving Ori to dash inside his and Fíli's room, locking the door as though it will do any good. 

On the table there are samples of colours. Ori grabs the first soft colours that come to hand and one bright one, deciding then that those will be the colours of the house. They can always change them later, he reasons. 

For now, all that matters is getting out of the palace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, criticism more than welcome.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Domesticity suits them.

“Fascinating,” Bilbo says, leaning over the side of the low stone wall. “I've never seen anything like this.” 

“The architecture of Erebor likely doesn't exist anywhere in the West,” Fíli replies, taking a leisurely drag of his pipe. “Ered Luin might have something similar, but nothing as advanced as ours. They don't need it, not really. They're a much smaller settlement.”

“Is it? I've never been.” Fíli isn't surprised at that. Anyone as interested in Elves as the Hobbit wouldn't likely go so far to see Dwarves. “You're very proud of Erebor, aren't you? All of you. I've never been somewhere where anyone on the street could wax poetic about columns.” 

“Did you think we had rocks for brains, as the Elves like to believe?” He too looks over the wall now as well, the waterway that controls the flow of snow-melt to Dale is beneath them, and far enough down they can still hear themselves think, the water crashes down another level. “I would think you had been around Ori enough that you already knew how wrong that was.” 

Bilbo bites the end of his pipe, and says, “I wasn't intending offence.” 

“I'm not offended,” Fíli replies, his thoughts distracted. His uncle had apparently been the one who intended to take Bilbo on this tour, but other tasks had taken precedence. The chore would be Ori's instead, as Bilbo's assigned companion. 

Except when Fíli woke this morning, he found Ori still asleep, and when he tried to rouse him, his husband had complained of a headache. Ori so rarely seemed to complain, so Fíli figured that if he actually was, he should stay in bed. Bilbo had been surprised to see Fíli when he opened the door to his quarters, and worse, disappointed. 

Ori has said Thorin is spending an awful lot of time with the Emissary. That isn't like Thorin. 

“Are you enjoying your time in Erebor?” he asks without thinking about the question. His and Ori's house has been finished for two weeks now, but he wonders if the smell of the paint is what's bothering Ori. Fíli's had a headache too. Perhaps he should insist Ori get out for a walk after they eat supper. “You've been here a month now, haven't you?”

“Not yet,” Bilbo says, frowning. “Oh, but I think your calender is different from ours. Yes, I believe Ori mentioned it at some point. My, but he is a bright young chap, isn't he? I'm surprised he's not published, or taking apprentices.” 

“He is published,” Fíli corrects. “It was required of him to become a master. It's some sort of anthology of plants. He could take apprentices, if he wanted to I suppose. He instructs down at his guild now.” For two weeks now, Ori has spent three mornings a week teaching calligraphy to pupils. He's rather good at it, apparently, and it gives him something to do. Fíli would sooner stab himself in his bad hand again than be bothered with the new crop of fiddlers in his own guild. Awful, mouthy little shits. No wonder his masters had hated him when he was young. 

“And what do you do for your guild?” 

“I pay dues,” Fíli replies, shrugging carelessly, “and perform when I'm asked to.”

“And your uncle, he's a blacksmith. What does your mother do?” Bilbo prompts, making his way further down the wall, Fíli following at a slower pace than he usually went. Bilbo is just so _small_. “We don't have guilds where I'm from. Oh, a lad or lass might train with someone, but it's not like this.” 

“My mother is a blacksmith as well. Your Shire is quite small on the map,” Fíli says, flexing his hand. Óin had not been pleased with how stiff it seemed, and has had him wrapping it with one of his mixtures at night. There's been improvement, but his little finger still feels sore. “I imagine you would never have the room. You can't have but five shops in the whole of it.” 

“The Shire is small, but it is a properly-sized settlement,” Bilbo argues coolly. “Your Highness, if I'm keeping you from something, I'm quite capable of being on my own at this point.”

“I'm sure you are,” Fíli replies, hardly listening. “However, if I let you, I would be in trouble, and I'm not in the mood to be shouted at.” 

“Your uncle said it never works, in any case.” The words rankle at Fíli. Bilbo does not know him well enough to speak to him like that, and he shouldn't know Thorin that well. More than that, this whole chore rankles at him. He has more important things he could have done today. Cevon and Legolas are very interested in the new bow and the arrows, and Fíli is far more interested in discussing their strategies against the spiders and what their plan of attack will be against the supposed nest. Legolas has even spoken of borrowing a regiment to come back and assist. 

Their friendship with Thranduil's people is more important than this little Hobbit and his Elven master, especially since that master is not Thranduil's friend. He won't see them lose their allies. 

It's dull as well, Bilbo interested in seeing things Fíli has seen his whole life.

“So I am not trusted to wander?” he asks, as though it's ridiculous. 

“No,” Fíli answers, and raises his eyebrows, daring Bilbo to question him. The Hobbit wisely shuts his mouth and keeps it shut, but there's of impatience about him the whole rest of the walk along the waterway. He does not try to engage Fíli in conversation again, but nor does Fíli, and he's relieved to find Thorin seemingly waiting for them at the end. 

Less relieved when he sees his mother. 

“Fíli?” she asks, an eyebrow raised. “What are you doing here? Where's Ori?”

“In bed, hopefully,” Fíli says, eyeing her. She's making more of an effort than usual today, her short beard full of diamonds, her eyebrows dusted with powder that makes them sparkle. Her long, black hair is covered in a net of yet more diamonds, and the bracer she wears over her deep blue dress is all silver and shining gems. Fíli hopes she hasn't gone outside the mountain, or she's liable to blind someone in the sunlight. “You look very pretty today, Mother.” 

She raises an eyebrow at him, and he squirms under it. They have not been on the best terms since Fíli and Ori went to their own house, and though he was angry with her when he left, he misses her now. She's overbearing at times, but she's still his mother. 

“Thank you, my darling,” she says at last, and allows him to kiss her on the cheek. “I'm attending a dinner with the guild leaders. Your brother will be my escort.” 

Fíli laughs before he can stop himself and gets struck on the arm with a fan his mother has produced from somewhere. Probably a pocket in her sleeve, but when Fíli was young, he always believed it a kind of magic only she had. “He can't even braid his hair properly,” Fíli reminds her, rubbing at his arm. It hadn't really hurt, but it makes her blue eyes crinkle in regret, and she rubs at the spot too. 

“Your brother is doing his best,” his mother says. “His best is not always what I would like it to be, I admit, but as long as he makes the effort I am satisfied.” She smiles around Fíli at Bilbo, who seems a bit startled by her. Perhaps he's never seen so many diamonds. “Elrond's emissary, I presume? My brother has spoken of you.” 

“This is my younger sister, Fíli and Kíli's mother, Master of the Guilds, Her Royal Highness, Princess Dís,” Thorin makes the introduction between Dís and Bilbo in a pleased way.

“Your Highness,” Bilbo says, giving a perfectly respectable bow, but his mother looks down her sharp nose at him with a glint to her eyes. 

“I am more commonly addressed as Lady Dís,” she corrects. “My duties usually lie with the guilds, you see.” 

“Of course,” Bilbo replies, clearing his throat a bit awkwardly. He must see how Dís has judged him and found him wanting, but he doesn't seem to put out over it at least. Fíli still thinks he should reassure him later that Dís hardly ever likes anyone, his mother much like Thorin in her general disinterest in people. He doesn't want Bilbo to waste time thinking he can win her over. Or maybe he does. “Bilbo Baggins, at your service.” 

If Dís thinks to comment on his name, she keeps it to herself. Instead, she asks, “What's wrong with Ori?” 

It's less the question, and more the way she asks it that makes Fíli roll his eyes. “He has a headache, Mother,” he replies, exasperated. It isn't as though either of them have had the energy for bed lately. They've talked at night after they're both in bed, but training with the bow on top of negotiations with Cevon and Legolas, not to mention the taxes and Dale's plans to add a new neighbourhood, have left Fíli with no room in his mind for that. 

Ori too has full days now, his previous leisure time in the palace now nothing but a pleasant holiday, he's said with a smile. Like Fíli though, Ori is used to work, and seems to like being busy better than being idle. 

Dís sighs as though Fíli is being disappointing solely to spite her. “I only think it's better to get started young, when you have the energy.”

“ _Mum_ , for pity's sake,” Fíli swears, and she frowns.

Bilbo chuckles. 

When they look at him, he rocks back and forth on his heels and says, “Ah, it's only...it's so very odd to me, to see a royal family at all, and to hear you speak like anyone else is just so funny.” Fíli exchanges a look with Thorin, but his uncle shakes his head. 

“You'll find most families speak like everyone else, Bilbo,” Thorin says, a hint of a smile on his face. “I am sorry I could not show you the waterways myself. I had pressing business.” 

“No worries, your nephew has kept me company.” Unfailingly polite, as Fíli said. 

“I've been distracted, actually,” Fíli contradicts. “By the Elves, and Dale. I don't think I've been very good company.” The hour is starting to grow late, and before another minute has passed, the bells sound for the hour, marking it as five already. He spent the morning training and the afternoon with Bilbo, but now it is evening, and he can go home at last. 

Dís seems to see his anxiety, and she asks, “Are we keeping you?” 

“I have some paperwork I want to go over at home,” Fíli says, hearing how distant he sounds. “Remind Kíli that he promised to drop by later, Mother.” 

“He won't be much for drinking by that point,” his mother says, but Fíli shakes his head. 

“We need to speak, not drink.” Dís leaves it, but that's only because she has no inkling of what is going through Fíli's head right now. His displeasure with Kíli is one the many things that has been nagging at him today, and he wants it settled as soon as possible. “Good night, everyone.”

His uncle nods, giving him permission to leaves, and Bilbo says his good-byes. Fíli doubts Bilbo will ask for his company again, but Fíli is not eager to be in his again either. He can see why Ori likes him, and maybe, under better circumstances, Fíli will like him more, but right now, almost everything outside of his routine is a hassle. 

“Get some sleep, Fíli,” Thorin says, frowning in obvious concern. “You're of no use to me if you're too tired to keep your mind focused.”

“Duly noted,” Fíli retorts dryly, not needing to look to see the way his uncle is probably rolling his eyes in tired exasperation. 

The butler is outside enjoying a pipe with the maid when Fíli reaches the house. He frowns at the both of them, confused. “Why are you out here?” 

“We can't smoke out by the servant's entrance because Cook has bread rising and doesn't want the smoke in it.” That Fíli understands, but he still doesn't understand why they're outside at all. 

“But why not smoke in your sitting area?” 

They exchange a look, and the maid answers him after a moment of silent communication. “Your husband begged us not to smoke in the house today. He said the smell was making him ill, and he has been sick today, sir.”

“He just had a headache when I left,” Fíli says, a bit worried now. 

“Well, he's much better now. Slept through most of the morning, and he had a decent lunch. I stayed with him, as you asked, and after he had a good rest and a meal, he was in better spirits.” She puts her pipe out and stands, opening the door for Fíli with a nod of her head. “He was up and dressed when I saw him last.”

“Thank you,” Fíli says, stepping inside. He goes up the steps straight away, and lets himself into their bedroom, passing the kitchen maid on the way. 

Ori is on the couch by the fire, his legs dawn up under him and a blanket over his lap as he reads. When he sees Fíli, he smiles, but it turns to a grimace when Fíli leans down for a kiss. “You smell like pipe-smoke.” 

“I do,” Fíli agrees, stepping back. “Sorry, I had one when I was walking with Bilbo, and I stood with two of the servants outside. It must be on my clothes.” 

“Stay away then, or I'm liable to be sick again,” Ori warns him.

“Don't need to tell me twice,” Fíli says, keeping his distance. “I'll have a wash and change then. Has it bothered you before?” 

“Only when I'm sick,” Ori replies, closing his eyes. “My head stopped hurting, thankfully. Cook made me some willow-bark tea, but that made me fall asleep. I'm so restless now, but I can't seem to get moving.”

“Do you want to go for a walk after supper?” Fíli asks, grabbing a new set of clothes out of the wardrobe. He leaves the door to the bathroom open as he strips down, so he and Ori can keep speaking. “I thought it might be nice, since we have a few hours to ourselves for once.” 

“It sounds nice,” Ori agrees. “Was Bilbo upset?” 

“It's not as though I'm good company for someone like him,” Fíli replies, running the water until it turns hot. He washes himself down, and undoes his braids so his hair is loose and he might comb more water through it. Not enough to wash it, but enough that he can easily run some oil through it. He cleans his teeth too, figuring he'll taste like smoke, and that'll ruin any chances he has at a kiss.

“I'm like Bilbo, and you're good company for me,” Ori says, as Fíli steps back in, his clean shirt in hand. “You just want to be at odds with him because your uncle likes him so much.” He's clearly interested in Fíli's bare chest, and Fíli grins with pride. He's a well-built Dwarf, despite still being a bit slighter than he'd like, and he enjoys being admired by his husband. 

“Uncle Thorin never likes anyone, not really,” Fíli argues, now taking the kiss he was refused before. “Though I suppose he and I are very much the same. That's what everyone always says, that I take after him. And I'm rather fond of you.” He takes another kiss, Ori smiling. 

“I would say that's because we share a bed, but I think that suggests more about your uncle's personal life than you want to know.” 

“It is.” Fíli steps back, pulling his shirt on and finding first a long vest to put on over it, than a soft leather belt to cinch around his waist. “Remember that rule about Kíli? It applies to my uncle as well. No mentioning either of them in the same sentence as our bed.” 

“If you say so.” Ori pulls the blanket a bit higher on himself. “Speaking of my brothers, did I tell you Dori and Nori came by yesterday?”

“No. How did that go?” He hadn't seen Ori at all yesterday, his husband already in bed by the time he came home, the meetings dragging on into an unholy hour. 

“They approved of the furnishings.” He sniffs, and all but disappears under the blanket. “Which is better than I expected, considering how we picked the colours.” It had been a bit of surprise when Ori suddenly presented with him some chosen colours and demanded they leave the palace as soon as possible, all but begging Fíli until he got the truth out of his trembling husband. He had risen to go kill Frerin, his hand already around the hilt of one of his swords before Ori stopped him. 

After he had calmed down somewhat, he and Ori had looked at the colour selections a bit longer, trying to decide, but then they had simply separated the soft and bright colours, choosing for the different rooms with their eyes closed. 

In the end, the results had not been half-bad. Fíli actually rather likes how everything has turned out, and though he would say he doesn't care a whit about what Dori or Nori think, it clearly makes Ori happy, and he does care about that. “I'm so cold. I hate being ill.” 

“Everyone hates being ill, my pearl,” Fíli says, pulling his boots back on. “Are you sure you want to go walking?”

“Anything to get out of the house. The maid hovers over me like I'm about to die, and it's driving me mad. Even Dori leaves me be when I'm sick.” He looks so miserable when he peeks out under the blanket that Fíli chuckles a bit as he gathers his hair back in a clasp. He'll either have Ori redo his braids before they go out, or he'll leave them down. At the end of the day, no one is likely to think it unseemly. “Dwalin and Nori might finally be engaged, fair warning.”

“Joy,” Fíli drawls, respectable again. He sits on the couch, pulling Ori's legs over his lap. “Mahal's beard, are we ever going to be allowed to be bored?”

“Once Bilbo leaves, and Thranduil's sons go home, things will settle back down, you'll see. It can't be much longer. Bilbo's found out all we're willing to say on the war, so I can't think Elrond wants much else. Though I suppose he'll have to wait until the spring, won't he? His party just barely made it through the pass before the snows, and they'll have to wait for it to melt before they go back.” The rest of Elrond's party, a few dark-haired Elves who had not been in the most pleasant of moods, had finally been let through by Thranduil's soldiers the week before. Fíli's not clear on their names, but they all sort of look alike in the way of Elves to him, and none of them have been very talkative. 

“Why in the world is Elrond so interested in the war anyway?” It just doesn't make any sense to Fíli, really. Why does Elrond care? 

“It's funny, but I'm starting to think it has more to do with the Orcs. That's who Bilbo keeps asking about now, and he's so awkward about it, though I think he's trying to be subtle.” His knees rest comfortably against Fíli's chest, and they're just the right height Fíli can slump over them, showing some rather bad posture his mother would thump him for. “Why do you think he's asking about Orcs?”

“I don't know.” Fíli can't think of an answer. “They're a bother, but we mostly keep them within their borders now. And the Southerners do the same on their side. They stay in Mordor where they belong, for the most part.”

“Except when they don't,” Ori says. “D'you know, I don't think I ever told you, but before we were married, I saw you when you first came back into Erebor's gates, and you were still bandaged. I was looking for Jori, hoping really.”

“And you still married me? Mahal's cock, I looked like a bloody ghoul.” Kíli has told him so, often, and even his mother admits he had not exactly been a handsome Dwarf when he came back. 

“No, you didn't,” Ori refutes, a lie, but a nice one. “You looked tired. And angry. I didn't know what to think of you, except Jori was saying how you had saved him. That you were a king he would follow. I was so grateful, because you see, Jori always looked after me when I was little. He's older than me, but he was always kind, even when he didn't really have time for me. He's my favourite cousin, really. And we all thought he was dead, and I was so torn up over it. You brought him back to me though.” 

“I've told you before, I was only doing what I thought was right.” Fíli enjoys being admired by Ori, but at the same time, he doesn't want it to be undeserved.

“Yes, I know.” The way he looks at Fíli now makes Fíli's heart race. It's just so _fond_ , and genuine. No one else looks at Fíli like that. “But see, that's what made me change my mind, I told you. You did what was right, even when it was stupid. You saved my cousin. I was so worried about Jori, because he was so thin and bruised, but I looked at you, because he told me to, and you were injured still, and...I did not think you handsome, but you looked noble. You looked strong. There's not many who could take an Orc bite to the ear and hand, and look as you did.” 

Fíli looks at Ori now, and tries to fathom what Ori had seen that convinced him that Fíli was worth marrying, worth trusting. “I never paid you any attention. I was too busy with my own life. But when I saw you at our betrothal, I just thought you looked very young.” He sighs. “And when I realized you had been crying in our bed after we were married, I felt...I didn't feel like the Dwarf you seem to see me as.”

“I was frightened. I won't pretend I wasn't. And I didn't want to like you. But I did. I still do.” He sniffs, and Fíli smiles pityingly at him, pressing his forehead against Ori's knees. “In any case, all of Bilbo's questions always end up coming back to the Orcs, to their armies, to the battles and where they were located. I can tell him those things, can't I?”

“Don't see why not.” 

“Why do you think Thranduil barred him from knowing?” It's a fair question, but all Fíli can do is shrug. 

“You have to meet Thranduil to understand. Perhaps we could go one day, in a few years, and visit his kingdom. He enjoys showing off.” Ori would probably enjoy it. He's likely never seen anything like Thranduil's realm. 

They sit like that for a bit longer, speaking of quiet, domestic things like the servants, the menu for the week, and Fíli's appointment with the tailor. He needs new clothes rather badly, his own things getting shamefully shabby for a royal, but he hates the process. “Come with me, and we'll finally get you a proper wardrobe,” he wheedles, thinking if he at least has company the time will pass faster. Kíli has already had new clothes for the season made, so he cannot get him. 

“I've had some things made already,” Ori says, not really arguing. “But you're right. It's time it was done.” He looks a good deal more alert now, and it's a relief. Fíli knows it's stupid, but he worries too much when anyone is ill. His memory refuses to soften the image of Kíli in a healer's bed, hardly breathing, his face flushed with fever, long black hair soaked in sweat. Fíli had not even been allowed to sit with him, for fear he too would get ill. 

_“He's my little brother!”_

_“And it will help no one if you die too, Fíli! You will be king one day, and you will understand. Your place is here.”_

“Fíli?” He blinks, and looks at Ori again. “I asked if you wanted to go down, or eat up here.” 

“You feel up to it?” Ori nods, and swings his legs off Fíli's lap so Fíli can rise. Once he's up, he helps Ori, and sure enough, he's a bit shaky. “Are you sure -”

“If you ask me one more time, I will think of something very awful to do to you,” Ori threatens, folding his blanket and setting it down on the couch. “I hate it when people fuss over me, I mean it. I know you mean well, but it annoys me.” 

“All right,” Fíli says, letting it drop. “Let's go then, before Cook sends the her maid up to fetch us. Poor child looks half-terrified all the time.” 

“Yes, apparently that's how they train them. I've been to see Shiori a few times in the guild house kitchen, and his apprentices are always hiding from him. But they don't want to leave him either. It's so odd. My masters never treated me like that. Did yours?” 

Fíli thinks on it, and says, “I used to have to play a fiddle in the snow. That was painful. But I'm awfully good now, so I suppose there was a method to the madness.” 

“You're not proud at all, are you?” Ori asks, and Fíli doesn't need to see him to know he's rolling his eyes. “We've been married for awhile now, haven't we? But I've never heard you play.” 

“That's because I usually play with Kíli, or Gimli, and since I don't actually have to earn coin, I don't really have the opportunity.” After they've gotten downstairs though, Fíli says, “I could play you a song tonight, if you like. You can judge for yourself.” 

“If my headache doesn't come back, I'd like that.” He smiles, and Fíli decides to risk brushing a kiss across his cheek. “Oi, enough of that, you'll get sick too!” He tries to push at Fíli, but he's laughing when Fíli presses another against the other cheek, and then one across his temple before settling them together, their foreheads touching. “I won't take care of you.”

“And if I died of fever, you probably wouldn't miss me,” Fíli teases. 

“Why would I? I'll have a lovely house all my own, and enough money I can sit and read books all day for the rest of my life.” 

“Oh? And what would you do when you got cold at night and you didn't have me to cling to?” Their house is far inferior to the palace in terms of heating, and though it doesn't much bother Fíli any more, Ori has been eager to crawl into his arms at night, snug under the blankets. They usually fall apart when sleeping, into more comfortable positions, but Ori still stays close to him. 

Ori seems to consider the idea for a long moment before he concedes, “I might miss you then. You're very warm.” 

“Nice to know I'm good for something in bed.” 

“You're good for other things too, on occasion.” 

Before Fíli can reply with an offer, someone else makes a noise, and he sees the kitchen maid in the corner of the room, twisting her hands in her apron as she always does. She looks like she's only one good shock from falling over in a dead faint, but now that Fíli has thought about it, he somewhat remembers spending a good part of his early apprenticeship terrified. 

“Begging your pardon, masters, but the table is ready for you,” she says, almost visibly trembling, and for the first time Fíli notices her accent. Probably because she's never said more than one word at a time to him.

“Thank you, Eilís,” Ori says, and she bobs in a curtsy before scarpering off. 

“Why does she call us 'masters'?” Fíli asks, frowning. 

“In Ered Luin, someone of her station would call everyone above her a master or mistress. They don't use the same forms of address,” Ori explains, as they make their way to the dining room. “They have titles, of course, same as us, though they have much fewer nobles, and no one higher than Lady Elva.”

“Did you like Ered Luin?” 

“We stayed with family there, so it made it all kind of unpleasant,” Ori says, sitting catty-corner to Fíli at the dining table. Fíli starts to pour him a glass of wine, but Ori refuses it. “No, I better not. In any case, Ered Luin was lovely. It's not like here, all built up. They live half outside of the mountains, with a great big city wall for the winters, not that there's much within the wall. More walls, because it's mostly gardens and goats and such.” 

“What's wrong with your family there?” The 'Ri have always been a big clan, but they've never been the sort that tried to murder each other once a week, like some. Maybe they're different in Ered Luin. 

“They don't approve of Nori. They only let us stay because I was with him, and I was considered too important to sleep in an inn.” Why he was important goes unsaid. “They've never forgiven Nori because of what happened.” 

That doesn't make sense. “They blamed Nori?”

“Not for Frerin,” Ori says to his soup. “I want to tell you, you know. I really do, but Nori would be furious and I don't want to break his trust. I did think they were being harsh, and more than a little unfair, but...it was all so complicated. It really was. I hated being caught in the middle, when I had nothing to do with any of it.”

Fíli raises an eyebrow, cocking his head to the side. “Do you think you need to tell me that?” 

“No, I suppose not,” Ori replies. “Did you hear about what my guild unveiled yesterday?” Fíli shakes his head, so Ori says, “Someone has designed a new printing press. It's much quicker than the old one, and cheaper. It means there will be more demand for things to publish, I think. You should how much my cousins all read already, though they don't read anything but those horrid novels.” 

“I like novels,” Fíli replies good-naturedly. 

“Yes, but you read other things too,” Ori says. “There'll be more demand for apprentices with a mind for mechanics now too, of course.” 

“Maybe you should write a book,” Fíli suggests, dipping his bread in what's left of the soup. There's no servant or mother to see, after all. “Bilbo was saying he was surprised you weren't published already, tough I did tell him you were.”

“That was just my mastery piece.” Ori doesn't seem to have much of an appetite, pushing away his half-empty bowl and ignoring the plate beside it entirely. “I don't know that I want to write another book. It was hard enough doing the plants. I wouldn't even know what to say.” 

“Write about a young scribe being married to a dastardly prince, only to fall madly in love with the prince and -” Ori chucks a roll at him, and Fíli laughs. 

“Prat.” 

They skip afters, Ori not looking up to any more food and Fíli not wanting to eat alone. Once Ori is covered up and Fíli's fur-lined coat has been found, - in the kitchen no less, when was he there? -, they're off on their walk, Ori's arm in Fíli's. “You need a new coat at the very least,” Fíli says, eyeing the one Ori is wearing. “That thing is practically threadbare. Why do you keep it?”

“Dori made it for me, the first time I left with Nori. It's been all over the place.” He actually sounds a bit put out over it, and Fíli sighs to himself. He guesses if his mother had made him a coat, he'd be attached to it as well. “But you're right, I need a new one. Maybe Dori can turn this into a shawl or a blanket or something.”

“Be an awfully small blanket,” Fíli observes, and Ori shrugs. 

“Maybe we'll need a small blanket one day.”

Not since that night in this house have they crossed the line in bed again. They've hardly done anything in bed at all, actually, and nothing of the sort in this house. Fíli has been too tired when he comes to bed, and lately, Ori nods off in the middle of telling Fíli about his day half the time. “Hopefully years from now, when we're both less stupid,” Fíli says. 

“We're always going to be stupid, to some people. I'll have white in my hair, and Dori will still think I'm a silly child.” He yawns, and leans on Fíli a bit more. “I might have to give up a day at the guild house. I'm done in.” 

“I don't know why you do it at all,” Fíli replies, nodding to their neighbour as they pass one another, one of Glóin's secretaries. “I hate teaching the little ingrates. I end up wanting to throttle them.” 

“If we have children, remind me not to leave you alone with them,” Ori says dryly, right before he yawns again. “Blast it, I need some proper sleep. What's your schedule tomorrow?” 

“I get to have a lie-in,” Fíli says. “And then I meet with everyone for midday, and we get to go shoot things.” 

“You're very excited over that.” Ori sniffs loudly as they cross a bridge, one of the entrances to the park up ahead. “Do you mind? The maid says it snowed today, and I'd like to go see.” 

“You'll freeze,” Fíli says, but they keep walking anyway. And it is freezing, but Ori doesn't seem to mind when he sees all the promised snow. 

The park is big, a massive undertaking by his late grandfather done out of pure spite. The way his mother and uncle told the story, Thranduil had implied that a Dwarf could not actually care for a pleasure garden, and Thror's pride had flared up. A spot had been surveyed, and then carefully turned into a series of terraces, with streams and paths and as much variety of plants that could be had this high up. It's mostly evergreen trees and other things, but the Elves always seem to approve of it when they come. 

Now, covered in snow, it's quiet, the snow making it look as though someone has scattered gem dust across the ground. The moonlight has turned it all sparkling, the stars bright in the clear night sky. It's peaceful and Fíli likes getting this moment. 

“I like it when I know I have a warm home to return to,” Fíli says. “Complete with a bed and a husband.” 

“Dori and I would usually go live at one of the bigger family houses during the winter. All the little families do. I always liked it when we stayed with Jori's family, though his brothers are horrid. Jori takes after my uncle, my mother's brother, and their house was always so cheerful, even when we were freezing. But Jori kicks, so I never wanted to sleep with him.” 

“This one tracker I used to share a tent with, she kicked like a goat. I managed to trade off partners, thank Mahal.” She had thrashed too, hitting him in the face one night. She'd always been sorry, of course, but Fíli didn't think 'sorry' quite covered almost breaking his nose. 

Ori laughs when Fíli says that aloud, and tells him about how Jori once pushed him out of the bed entirely, Ori and two of Jori's other siblings beside. “We were all piled up on the floor, and I had bruises up and down my back. His mother threatened to tie him up.” 

They don't stay out long, the snow not charming enough to ward off the chill. When they get back though, they find they have company. 

“Fuck, Kíli, I forgot,” Fíli apologises as the butler takes his coat. His little brother is sprawled in a chair by the fire in their sitting room, smoking a pipe and humming to himself. “And put that out.”

“What? Why?” Kíli does it, frowning.

“Because I'll be sick on you if you keep smoking it,” Ori says, coming in behind Fíli, his shawl gone now. “Is this something I can be here for, or should I go up?” 

“You can stay,” Fíli says. “I did promise to play for you, and the two of us sound better than the one.”

“Play what?” Kíli asks, sitting up. “A fiddle? I haven't got one with me, and besides, my fingers are sore from that bow. You should see Tauriel shoot it though, she's brilliant. Absolutely brilliant.” 

Fíli looks at Ori, and his husband makes a face as he sits down on the sofa, clearly intending to stay out of this. Then again, Fíli wouldn't want to be in the middle of anything between Ori and his brothers. 

“What are you up to with that Elf?”

“Oh, for fucking pity's sake,” Kíli swears. “I'm not doing anything Gimli isn't doing with that poncey git of his -”

“Legolas is no such thing,” Ori interjects. “You're just upset he's a better archer than you.” 

“Is not!” Kíli glares at the pair of them, and slumps down in further in the chair. “And by the way, thanks for telling me our little cousin was having it off with Thranduil's damned son. I felt like a right idiot when I figured it out. No wonder Mum is talking about marrying me off to one of Dáin's gaggle of brats, Gimli's gone and ruined everything!”

“Kíli, he never gave you a damn promise, so I don't know why you think you're the injured party here. It was only an idea, and you don't love him anyway!” 

“But I like him! We'd get on! Instead, now they want to marry me to a fucking stranger. You might be able to do it, Fíli, but I will not. I won't do it and they can't make me.” He crosses his arms and exhales noisily. “It's not bloody fair.”

Fíli catches Ori's eye, but Ori shakes his head. He won't help, but Fíli supposes there's little he can say. Kíli has been teaching Ori the bow a bit, but they're not yet close. “I'll give you that point, but damn it, Kíli, she's a woman.”

“She's an Elf, and I'm a Dwarf. It's not as though anything could happen.” 

“Kíli, who told you that?” Ori asks, sounding a bit dazed. “That's not true at all.”

“What?” Kíli frowns, then groans. “No, I don't mean -, Mahal's fucking apprentices, I'm not actually stupid, you know. I don't know why everyone acts like I am. We haven't done a damn thing. She's a bloody Elf. She lets me flirt, and she teases me a bit, but nothing has happened and nothing will. Believe me, I tried.” 

“You actually tried it on with an Elf?” Fíli asked, not sure why he was even surprised. 

“He tries it on with me, for pity's sake,” Ori reminds him. 

“Oh, yeah, about that,” Fíli had almost forgotten that offence, but now he punches Kíli in the shoulder, hard. “If you ever make that damn joke to Ori again, I'll cut off your hair, you git.” 

“Ow! He already hit me, why are you hitting me too? That's not fair.” 

“Call it a loving reminder,” Fíli warns him, finally sitting down beside Ori. “Arsehole.” 

“You're ugly and your braids are crooked,” Kíli mumbles. 

“At least I have braids,” Fíli shoots back. “Sheepdog Prince.” Beside him, Ori has opened a book in his lap, and he seems content to read quietly while they squabble. It looks like a story, not one of his dull indexes. “Keep it to a flirtation, Kíli, a quiet one. Things will be hard enough when Gimli comes of age, if he's serious. I think he is too, mind. He's lucky to be such a minor noble. The fuss will die down eventually. You though, absolutely not. Never.”

“Fine.” Kíli doesn't look at him when he says it. Fíli has to hope that doesn't mean anything. 

“All right then, tell us about the dinner,” he says, when it looks like Kíli is about to head into one of his sulks. “Did anything get done, or did they all fall all over themselves for Mum?” 

His brother laughs, and seems to cheer up, saying, “You should have seen it! The master of the Jeweller's Guild all but followed her around the whole night. She would have gone and fetched Mum the Moon if Mum only asked. And then Nori showed up with the Weavers, and after that, nothing got done at all. By the way, is your brother engaged? Only he has promise braids in his hair.” 

Ori raises his eyebrows and huffs, shaking his head. “I'll wait 'til he says the vows before I'll celebrate.” 

Fíli is inclined to agree. 

Kíli doesn't stay long, the hour already a bit late. Once he's left, kissing Ori on the cheek obnoxiously and getting a kick in the shins for it, Fíli takes Ori up to bed. The maid has built the fire up, and put the warming pans in, so when they get in, everything is already warm and comfortable. Fíli is content to lie there while Ori reads, closing his eyes and listening to the crackle of the fire, the pages turning, Ori's breathing. 

Perhaps it's wicked, but he enjoys this too much now, and awful as it is, he thinks if he was given the chance to go back and change things, he wouldn't. It would mean he wouldn't have this, and he can't bear that now. 

“How's your head?” he asks. 

“Hm? Better, for now. I'm too tired to do anything though, so don't even think about it.”

“I wasn't even,” Fíli defends himself, grinning. “What's going on in that story anyway?”


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N It's two in the morning, I'm snowed in, and I ran out of vodka. How do you think I'm doing?

Fíli is in the training yard when his uncle finds him, Frerin's hair loose in a way that makes him look like Kíli, despite their colouring differences. He's hardly dressed, in just a blue shirt and trousers that have seen betters days, his boots plain and laced up tight. 

“What are you doing here?” Fíli asks, his voice as level as he can manage. He hasn't seen his second uncle for more than a moment since he and Ori left the palace, and even then, they're never alone, likely a deliberate move on the part of Dís. A smart move. “You're not supposed to be here without an escort.” 

Frerin smirks in that tired way of his. “I have one. We went riding today. He should be here in a moment.”

“So you are here without escort.” Fíli stands, his falchion falling into his grip easily. “That violates the king's orders. Some would call that treason.” He wants to run his sword through Frerin so very much, even though he knows it's not right. It's _not_. Ori is not a possession, and he had handled it fine on his own from what he had told Fíli. 

His grip loosens on the sword, and he tuns away. “You're not supposed to be here, Frerin. Go find somewhere else to be.”

His second uncle smiles tightly, but does not leave. “I spoke out of turn to your husband. I touched him. I'm sorry for it, sister-son, but that is what happened, as I'm sure he told you.” When Fíli doesn't say anything, because he can't, he can't say a word without it being a threat, a promise of pain, because he _touched Ori_. He made Ori afraid, made his hands shake and look as though he was about to cry. Frerin did that, and Fíli wants to hurt him back for it. 

But Fíli is who he is, and despite what his heart wants, he's far too logical to think it would ever be a viable solution. The Crown Prince murdering his second uncle? The whole sordid tale would come out eventually, and with just one blow, Fíli would ruin everything his and Ori's marriage is. He would make it meaningless, and the Crown would lose its power. 

He would make their sacrifices meaningless. 

“Again, Frerin, find somewhere else to be. You and I have nothing to discuss.” Nothing that can be spoken of with a civil tongue, at least. 

“But we do, sister-son,” Frerin insists, not coming closer. There's an earnest look to him that makes Fíli hesitate, despite everything. This is his mother and Thorin's brother, this is someone who loves him, he's sure, even if Fíli can't quite return the sentiment any more. “I...you were right, to take him away from this place. You were completely right.” 

“It wasn't just my decision,” Fíli says, if only because he wants Frerin to recognize Ori as his own person. “Ori wanted us to have our own household, and I agreed. It was the best decision for us both.” 

Frerin half-laughs. It's the most joyous sound Fíli has heard from him in years, he realizes, and right now, when he looks like Kíli, that seems wrong. Kíli is always laughing, and Frerin hasn't laughed since Fíli can remember. “You wanted to escape your mother's overbearing nature, and Ori wanted to escape me.” Fíli is displeased with how well Frerin can read him, and it must show in his face, because Frerin says, “It is only logical for me to conclude that. I am still capable of logic, Fíli. I am...not who I was, before my madness, before Nori. But I am still capable of rational thought.” 

“So you knew what you were doing when you put your hands on my husband?” Fíli already knows he's not going to do anything, not really, won't raise his hand to his second uncle, won't pass judgement.

Does he even have the high ground to do that from, any more? 

Frerin sighs, his shoulders falling. “I still feel the pull, Fíli. I cannot deny it any more, and my sister and brother know of it. Ori is...he looks a great deal as Nori did, when we were young. I look at him, and I see Nori. I feel the fire again.” Frerin exhales, long and loud, and says, “I'm sorry for it.”

“Whether or not you're sorry for it doesn't make a difference to their family,” Fíli replies shortly. 

They stand silent for too long, Fíli feeling every inch of their resemblance. Golden princes, ensnared by 'Ri, because he is, he can't deny that now, and he feels like a monster for it. Ori never wanted any of this, and Nori had been hurt so badly by the ordeal, but still, Fíli cannot bear the idea of not having Ori now. He needs him, and Fíli feels tarnished for that. 

How can he touch Ori now, when he knows he would still condemn Nori, Ori's brother, to his fate, just so he could keep Ori in his own bed? It's wrong, and selfish. It's something he never believed of himself. Hadn't he done his best to be noble, to earn the praise given to him? Hadn't he been what everyone asked of him? And yet still, the one thing he wants, it's not really his. 

“No, it doesn't,” Frerin says weakly, sounding nothing like Thorin or Dís at all. “You and him took the weight of my crime, sister-son, when you shouldn't of had to. I took your choices from you. I took his.” 

These are true things, but Fíli doesn't want to hear them. “What is your point, Frerin? What do you want?” 

“I don't know what I want, Fíli.” That at least sounds honest, and he looks up at Frerin again, meets his second uncle's eyes. His are blue, where Fíli's are dark, and they do not look so much alike any more, do they? They did, once. But today Fíli sees the differences in their jaws, in the shape of their eyes, their brows. They have the same nose, and the same smile. But all the rest is so different now, and if it weren't for their hair, no one would guess. 

“He's my husband, Frerin. Don't ever go near him again, or I'll have you executed, damn the consequences.” And Fíli looks away, back at his sword, because he cannot look at Frerin right now, cannot look at him and see the uncle he'd once loved, before he knew all that Frerin had condemned him to. 

The other golden prince says, “Of course, Your Highness,” and Fíli hears him walk away, back into the halls, presumably to wait for his escort to rejoin him. 

It's been a long time since Fíli has been able to go riding. 

He stands, and sheaths his sword, buckling it to his belt where it used to always sit. Out of the training yard, down into the palace, he finds his husband sitting with Bilbo, the two of them taking tea. Ori is saying something about music, songs from wherever Bilbo is from, but Fíli couldn't care less about Bilbo.

“Ori,” he says, getting their attention, and the way Ori smiles when he sees Fíli reassures him somewhat. “Do you want to go horseback riding?”

They both frown, Bilbo and Ori. Fíli thinks he's going to say no, and really, it would make sense, because it's such a stupid, impulsive thing to ask. Ori has his own responsibilities, and Bilbo is one of them. 

“Right now?” he asks, and when Fíli nods, he smiles wider, surprisingly. “Yes, actually. I haven't been in years, not since I was little.” But then he turns to Bilbo and asks, “Have you ever been?” and somehow or another, Bilbo gets invited along.

They meet him down in the stables once they've changed, and to Fíli's pleased surprise, Ori asks if he can ride with Fíli. “Only I really haven't ridden in a long time,” he insists, and one of the stouter ponies is saddled to hold two, so Fíli has the pleasure of Ori pressed against his back, his hands around Fíli's waist. 

Bilbo rides alone on a soft-mouthed mare, following them out without any sign of being uncomfortable on the pony's back, until the three of them are in the cold sunshine of the paddock that leads to the roads around Erebor and Dale, or further the other way, into the open fields, where the only thing they can see is the sky meeting the earth, the grasses dead in the winter season, the sky a pale, cloudless blue. 

“Look,” Ori says, nodding at the horizon. “See the sky touches the land, goes on and on? That's how the sea is, Fíli.” 

“Is it?” Fíli asks, and then says, “Hold on.” Ori's arms tighten around him just as Fíli spurs the pony forward, into a trot, then a full gallop, Ori laughing into his ear before burying his face in Fíli's back, the tremors of his laughter up against Fíli's spine. The pony, eager to be out, takes its chance and the horizon approaches fast, but at the same time, stretches out forever. A stream from the Lake comes up on their side, and the pony goes to higher ground, avoiding the mud without prompting, and Fíli loves it, the way the sun turns the surface into silver and mithril, the dead grass into gold and bronze and copper. 

“We've left Bilbo!” Ori shouts in his ear, but there's a smile in the words. “Fíli, turn back!”

And he's laughing, he is. And he would have cared about Fíli without the promise, wouldn't he of? He and Fíli, they would have found their way eventually, Ori would have still held Fíli tight right now, would still laugh in his ear? 

Fíli steers the pony around, back towards where they started, towards Bilbo, allowing the creature to naturally slow to a trot until they come abreast of the Hobbit. He's watching them with good-natured amusement, grinning at the pair of them. In the sunshine, his dull hair has strands of gold in it, and the lines of his face are more defined, showing his age to be older than Fíli initially thought. 

“That looked fun,” he says, and Fíli is happy when he feels Oi nod against his back. “It's good to be in the light again. I don't know how you lot do it, cooped up in there.” 

“We're Dwarves,” Ori says cheerfully. “We like stone overhead and underfoot. It's how we were made to be, by the Maker himself.” 

“Mahal carved us from stone,” Fíli adds, “and stone is where we belong.” 

Though he will not lie, and say he does not enjoy this too, the sun and the sky overhead, the wind hard on his face, reminding him to breathe and breathe deep, though it means he smells the mud and the grass. They're not unpleasant, on their own, but he tends to associate it with the restlessness of war, even now, with Ori against him. 

“Who made the Hobbits?” Ori asks, and Fíli turns to Bilbo as well, admittedly curious. 

Bilbo shrugs, their ponies falling into step easily, the two animals obviously accustomed to one another, as he produces his pipe and packs it. “We're not like you, I'm afraid. Whoever made us didn't seem to think they should say, but we're not a people that needs much meddling. Hobbits don't have grand destinies or adventures. We stay in the Shire, and we grow our gardens and brew our cider and go about our lives until the end.” Once he has his pipe lit, he takes a puff and exhales a smoke ring. “It's not a bad life, you know. Different from how the rest of the world goes about its business, but Hobbits are generally happy, and I can't say the same of others I've travelled amongst.” 

“Things that are easily had are easily lost,” Fíli says, something he'd been told often as a child. He secures Ori's hands as he shifts in the saddle, keeping the reins wrapped around his good hand, even though the pony hardly needs him to lead now that it's on its familiar walk. “We work for everything we have, Master Baggins, and we're more grateful for it at the end of the day.” 

The Hobbit smirks. “You're so like your uncle, you know?”

Fíli stiffens before he realizes that Bilbo means Thorin. “I've been told.” 

Against his back, Ori exhales, his chest expanding. Fíli looks over his shoulder at him, smiles when he sees Ori smiling. “More fun than tea?”

“You know it is,” Ori replies, turning to Bilbo. “You like riding, then?” 

“I didn't before I first went to Rivendell, not at all.” Bilbo puffs on his pipe happily, throwing his head back so the sun is on his face. “Hated it, in fact. But after my mother died I was...I was so very sad. Father was already gone, and then she left me too. She was comfortable at the end, which was far better than how Papa went, but I still felt the loss.” Again, he puffs, smiling. “Lady Arwen, Lord Elrond's daughter, she started to drag me out of doors, whether I wanted to be or not, and she was the one who put me on a pony and had me go out with her. And after a time, I grew to love it, the peacefulness. One can think very well when they're out on their own in the open grass.” He blows three smoke rings in a row before turning back to them, still smiling in that tight way people do when they're discussing something too sad to frown over. “What about you Ori?”

Ori sits up a bit again, making a small noise of discontent. “When I was younger, Nori would always have us take ponies when we travelled. I loved it, really. I like animals, like being around them. Nori hates them though, so as soon as I was experienced enough to walk, we walked.”

“Your brother hates ponies?” Bilbo's brow furrows as he bites his pipe. “Who hates ponies?” 

“Nori hates everything,” Ori replies, sounding annoyed. “It just depends on the day what he's decided to hate the most.” 

“Seems to like that guard well enough,” Bilbo says, raising an eyebrow. 

“You'd be surprised.” 

Fíli clucks his tongue as he forces their pony's head forward, reminding it that it wasn't here to wander off into the grass. The creature obeys, though it pulls a bit, obviously wanting its freedom again. Against him, Ori shifts again, and when Fíli looks over his shoulder, Ori is frowning. “What's wrong?”

“I can't seem to get comfortable, lately,” Ori huffs. 

“Should we turn back?” 

“No,” he says sharply, tightening his hands around Fíli's waist. “I haven't been out in ages.” 

“Do you want a pony of your own?” Fíli asks, not minding if Bilbo hears the conversation. “I could speak to the horse-master. She could find one that suits you.” 

Ori laughs against him, but he doesn't say what he finds so funny. Instead, he says, “We'll see,” and the three of them walk along in silence for a bit. Bilbo pulls away from them, his pony choosing to be a bit closer to the water and Bilbo apparently not protesting the direction. The Hobbit looks lost in thought, as he stares out over the water, and Fíli wonders where they are. Is Bilbo a spy? Is he taking in the landscape, seeing where they're vulnerable? 

“Do you trust him?” Fíli asks, when he's sure Bilbo is out of earshot. 

“No,” Ori answers, shaking his head. “The more questions he asks, the more sure I am that he's lying about why he's here. He's a good liar. He lies like Nori does though, and now I see it.”

Fíli keeps his eyes on Bilbo, the Hobbit a small figure even on a pony. He's taken to wearing more layers in the past week or so, Dwarven clothing that was likely made with a child in mind, earthy colours like browns and yellows and deep greens. He's still not a Dwarf, will never be a Dwarf, but he sticks out less this “What do you mean?” 

“Nori doesn't really lie, see. He says it's too much to keep straight. He just bends the truth, until it breaks sometimes. But he doesn't lie, not really, not unless he has to.” It's an awkward explanation, but Fíli sort of understands it. His mother is the same way sometimes. “Bilbo does the same thing. He's not really lying to me, not outright, but he's talking around the truth. He's hiding something, though I can't say what.”

“Maybe you shouldn't be alone with him any more,” Fíli says, not just for caution about Ori. They haven't been careful, and it's entirely possible it's not just Ori at risk any more. “Kíli could keep you company, or the Elves.” He can at least trust Thranduil's people to want the Line of Durin on the throne, and the day a Hobbit moves faster than an Elven soldier is the day Fíli cuts his beard off. 

To his surprise, Ori sighs, and doesn't immediately disagree. “Let me keep trying. I don't think he's violent, just sneaky. If I can find out what Nori's hiding, I can figure him out.” He makes an odd noise, and settles against Fíli's back. “I have to tell you something, but before I do, don't get too excited.”

“About what?” 

“I'm seeing the healers this afternoon,” he mumbles into Fíli's shoulder. “Dori's better now. And I'm still sick. But..some of my symptoms...we weren't careful, and I...” He stops, but Fíli's own heart is stalled in his chest, so he barely notices for a few seconds. Ori has been ill, that's true, but, if it's not illness...?

He looks over his shoulder, but Ori won't meet his eyes. “Do you think you might be?”

“I said don't get excited,” Ori reminds him, still mumbling. “I'm just making sure. I do get sick, you know. Just plain sick.” 

“But you could be?” 

Ori huffs, but then nods. “I could. But don't get excited.” 

“Are you really telling me not to, after saying that?” They're too young, they're young and still new to one another, and yet, Fíli's feels like his heart might burst at the thought. A child. A _child_. Someone that was just theirs, and theirs alone. No one, not even Ori's brothers, would be able to say another word about their match, they would have to accept it. “I'll try to contain myself.”

There's a minute of charged quiet, and then Ori asks, in a voice that lets Fíli knows he's smiling, “You'd be excited?”

“Would you?” He'd almost forgotten whose opinion was the most important. “Because if you wouldn't be...”

“I meant what I said that night.” He doesn't have to specify. The way his hands tighten against Fíli's stomach tell him. “I want...I don't know if I want it this soon, but I know what's expected of me, of you, and I'd rather...wouldn't you rather we...doing it because we're supposed to, I mean...”

Fíli understands, and covers Ori's joined hands with his bad one, hoping it conveys. “It's what everyone wants, but if it happens, I want it to happen because we wanted to be together. Not because they told us to be.” He won't say it, but he needs Ori to have wanted it, wanted him, if it happens. If it's happened. “Ori, if you are...”

“I'm probably not,” Ori insists, but when Fíli looks over his shoulder, Ori is peeking up at him. “I'll be happy, if I am. Does that make you feel better?” 

“The whole idea makes me happy,” Fíli confesses. “But we'd probably botch it up, so I'll stay on the fence until we know one way or the other.”

“Your mother would be unbearable,” Ori whispers, the thought making Fíli cringe. 

“Durin's name, she would be, wouldn't she be? For pity's sake, I hope you have the flu.” That gets a laugh out of Ori at last, and their pony again comes up even with Bilbo's. “What are you thinking about, Master Baggins? You look quite lost.” 

The wind blows over them all, Fíli and Ori's thick hair hardly moved, but Bilbo's curls all but falling into his eyes. He brushes them back with something that might be a curse, and closes his eyes tightly. “Maybe I am. I miss the Shire, miss my home. Erebor is beautiful, before you're insulted. It's just not Bag End.” 

“Bag End?” Fíli asks, raising an eyebrow.

“The name of my home,” Bilbo explains, rubbing his pony's neck. “My father built it for my mother. We are Baggins of Bag End, you see?” The words sort of sound similar, Fíli guesses. “I let it to my cousin for safekeeping while I was away, but now I'm starting to wonder if I'll ever see it again. The longer I spend away, the more unreal it all seems.” 

“I used to feel that way, sometimes,” Ori says, pulling away from Fíli a bit, though he keeps his hands on Fíli's waist. “I would get so used to the place my brother and I were working, Erebor would start to feel like someone else's life.” His hands slide a bit, his body relaxing in the saddle. “When I was in Erebor, everyone knew who I was, what I was going to be one day. But outside of Erebor, when it was just me and Nori, it was different.”

Bilbo huffs, his pipe between his teeth as he repositions himself on the saddle. It's likely too big to be truly comfortable for him, but he hasn't said anything yet, and Fíli has no desire to encourage his complaints. “I can't imagine having an arranged marriage. What if you two had hated each other?” 

“It's different for nobles,” Fíli says, glancing over at the Hobbit. “It's different for Dwarrows, even. We don't love easily to begin with. Some never love at all. The lineages can't exactly wait until you do, or we'd never get anything done.”

“Whereas the rest of us can wait,” Ori adds. “There's so many 'Ri, no one needs another.” 

“I don't even know how you remember all your cousins' names,” Fíli says, looking back enough that Ori could see he was addressing him. “There's too damn many of you.”

“I can't,” Ori confesses, shrugging. “Sometimes I even forget just how they're related to me.” 

“Don't blame you,” he huffs in reply. 

Kíli had been all too eager to point out just how many Dwarrows in Erebor might want Fíli dead for taking Ori from them, not to mention all the families they were married into. Whatever Ori had done when he'd gone and spoken to them seems to have helped, but Kíli had confided he wasn't sure it was enough to silence everyone just yet. Some of the family might know the whole of the secret after all, not just Nori breaking his promises with Frerin, and if they get it in their heads that the Line of Durin had crossed them, they could be dangerous, especially since they all but controlled two powerful guilds. 

If Ori is carrying though, that might help more. No 'Ri would bear or sire unless they wanted to, not even one carrying the royal line. 

“Actually, I've been meaning to ask, Ori, about your name.” Bilbo looks puzzled, but that seems to just be his usual facial expression. “The way it's written in Westron is different than the others I've seen. Why?” 

“Because of who it comes from,” Ori says, while Fíli half-listens, more intent on guiding the pony through the grasses. There are hidden dens and nests and the like this deep in, and he doesn't want to risk startling their ponies. “Our line chooses to take its name from Lady Pari.” 

“Who was that?” 

“King Glóin's concubine,” Fíli answers flippantly, and gets a pinch for it. “What? She was!”

Ori doesn't seem amused, speaking to Bilbo instead, his tone chilly enough Fíli wondered if another present was in order. The 'Ri never called her that, after all. “After King Glóin's wife died, and he was in mourning, a delegation came from the Southern Dwarves. Lady Pari was amongst them.” Ori pauses a moment, but since Fíli can't see his face, he doesn't know why. “They say she was very beautiful. She had dark skin, with constellations tattooed across her cheeks, and the darkest eyes anyone had ever seen. You could look into them and feel lost. Her hair was supposedly the exact colour of fire, and she lit up rooms. She was strong, and clever, a weaver.” 

“My ancestor never stood a chance,” Fíli laments, shaking his head at the thought of poor King Glóin, seeing a Dwarf like that. “She had hardly begun to show her tapestries before King Glóin fell madly in love with her. As I sad, Dwarves do not love easily, or often. It's not in our nature. But he was in love. That at least is true.” 

“Did she love him?” Bilbo asks, now looking more interested. “This Lady Pari?”

“They say she did,” Ori replies, shrugging. “But the king had already been married, and his son was around Fíli's age. It's more acceptable now, but then, especially for a king, even for a king, marrying her was impossible.” 

“Didn't stop them,” Fíli interjects, and gets pinched again. “You wouldn't be here if it had, so I don't know why you're upset with me.” 

“Because you're being rude on purpose,” Ori scolds, Fíli rolling his eyes at the accusation. “It's my ancestor, let me tell it. Your family tells it wrong.” 

“We do not!” 

“Do to,” Ori argues, right as the pony stumbles, making him grab Fíli tight. “Should we be out this far?” 

Fíli swings down to the ground, Ori moving aside for him, and starts to lead the creature instead. The pony probably can't see too well at this point, and Fíli won't risk Ori being thrown. “We're fine. Tell the story then.” 

He's surprised by fingers touching his ear, and when he looks up, Ori is looking down at him, frowning. “Sorry,” he says, so Fíli grabs at his fingers, presses a kiss to them. It's no use arguing over something so stupid. “You do it tell it wrong though.” 

“If you say so,” Fíli concedes. 

“So,” Bilbo interrupts, bringing his pony up so Fíli can see him. “What happened? After he met this beautiful lady and fell in love?” 

“Seven children,” Ori says, looking away from Fíli. “All mother's children. The king could not acknowledge them, though everyone knew. Lady Pari was not content to just be considered the king's concubine though. She joined the Weaver's Guild, and flourished. Her children she all named for herself, not Glóin, as was her right. Her children all married, and all had many children, and they all named their children for her too. They honoured Lady Pari as the beginning of our line, not their father. The name is written differently to acknowledge where she came from, her people. Her history. And why we chose purple as our family colour, because when she originally came, she brought purple dye from her lands. 'Course, we could only ever use lavender, or other plants. Far too expensive for most of us.” 

“So you and Fíli are actually related?” Bilbo asks, cleaning out his pipe so he could pack it again. “Distantly, I mean, of course. It's like that in the Shire. Everyone is related if you look far enough back.” He chuckles, and says, “I can't imagine daring to call myself after a woman, a mother.”

Beside him, he feels Ori stiffen, and when he looks up, he sees how tense his husband suddenly is. “What do you mean by that, Master Baggins?” Bilbo must hear how cold he's gone, because he looks back at Fíli, eyebrows raised. 

“Well, to name yourself a bastard,” Bilbo says, as though Fíli is being deliberately obtuse. “To deliberately make yourself scandalous.”

“What does that word mean?” He asks the question, but he thinks he already has an idea. “What's wrong with taking your name from a woman? A mother? Ori takes his from his mother, and so does my cousin, Gimli.” 

The way Bilbo stutters confuses Fíli all the more, and his explanation does little to help. “To not have a father claim you, I mean. You belong to no one.”

“You belong to your mother's family then, don't you?” he demands. “What goes on in your Shire, that you think so little of the person who bore you into the world? Carried you, gave you life?”

Bilbo turns pink and scowling. “Don't ever presume you know how I felt about my mother, Your Highness. My mother was most beloved to me, and I would have done anything for her, anything.”

“But you would not have called yourself for her line,” Fíli confirms, and the way Bilbo looks away answers better than anything he might have said. 

“It's just not done,” he says after a moment, as though that explains anything at all. “To be a bastard, that's...it's just not done.”

Fíli scowls at him, and thinks to say something cruel, but it's Ori who says in a very firm tone, “By your reckoning, I'm a bastard, as you say. As our my brothers. We are all from different sires, and my mother never thought to marry any of them.” While Bilbo stares at Ori, looking pole-axed, Ori asks, “Do you think less of me, then?” 

“I...” Bilbo trails off, and takes a puff of his pipe. “No, of course not, my dearest fellow. I just...my people are different.” 

“Obviously,” Fíli mutters to himself and the pony, who only looks at him with one large, dark eye, and snorts. “We're on better ground now.” This he says to Ori, and his husband moves back on the saddle so Fíli can get back on. He takes the reins in hand again, and squeezes the pony, urging it on a little faster than the plodding pace it had been at. 

“We should head back soon, but not just yet,” Ori says. “The sun says it's gone two, and I told the healers I would come around the fourth bell.” Fíli thinks they'll all three ride in silence, but Ori surprises him. “I'm not angry with you, Bilbo. But I don't like that word, and I won't hear you use it, or talk about my mother or my line like that. That might be how it is in your Shire, but that's not how it is here, and you must acknowledge that.” 

Fíli smirks, proud of him, and Bilbo looks suitably humbled enough for him. “Of course, Ori. I am sorry if I gave any offence to you. I should have thought before I spoke.” Fíli does wonder if he would be so sorry of it had not been the Crown Prince's husband he's offended. “Really, I don't know what I was thinking.” 

“You weren't thinking,” Fíli says, and gets Ori resting against his back again as a reward. “But let's not argue.” Ori had said not to trust Bilbo, and if that's how it is, then it's best to maintain the friendship between Ori and Bilbo, much as Fíli is starting to dislike it. 

They ride a bit further, Ori and Bilbo talking about something involving the different scripts and punctuation, so Fíli keeps himself to his own thoughts. Unfortunately, his thoughts keep falling back to Frerin. 

What had he meant, coming up to Fíli like he had? What had he hoped to accomplish? Fíli can never understand him, and that's frustrating enough, but on the days he starts to think he could, he feels ill. Dwarves so rarely love, and Fíli is under no illusions about his and Ori's relationship, no matter what anyone thinks. Just because he might love Ori, a heavy _might_ , doesn't mean Ori will love him in turn. But already, Fíli feels the pull of possessiveness for Ori, much as he's tried to deny it.

And if Ori's suspicions are found to be true today, it won't improve. Fíli is already wondering if Ori should be riding at all, and if he is, maybe it will be better if they have one of his family come to their home during the day, to keep watch and keep him company. But Ori might get upset over that. He did say he hated being fussed over when he was sick, and he's proven it true.

If they're found true...Fíli smiles to himself, feeling like an idiot. They are _too young_ , and he knows it, he really does. He does. But they like each other, and they'd have help when they needed it, and he cannot deny that the idea of a child in their house, golden-haired or red-headed, or maybe even black-haired, running about and causing trouble and loving Fíli and Ori without thought is appealing. Ori making the choice to keep what's theirs, name Fíli as its sire, carry Fíli's blood willingly, that's the greatest joy in the idea, because it'll prove that he cares about Fíli as he says he does. 

That maybe they might love one another, and find something in this mess their families made of their lives. 

Ori positions himself up a bit now, getting Fíli's attention. “I think we should head back now. I don't feel well. I swear, I was fine just a minute ago, but now I feel awful.”

“Let's turn back then. Or would you rather we walk?” He hopes he's not sick to his stomach again. Just this morning he had complained of it while unwrapping Fíli's hand. 

“I don't feel strong enough to walk,” Ori mumbles, the words sounding like an admission of guilt instead of a statement. “I swear, I was fine a minute ago, and now I feel like the ground has dropped out from under me.” 

“You need to see Óin,” Fíli says, shaking his head. “Whatever the problem is, you're ill, and you need to see a healer. Let's get you back, and I'll have him come up and see to you.”

Ori nods, resting his weight completely against Fíli while Fíli steers the pony back towards the mountain. When Bilbo notices, he raises an eyebrow, but directs his own pony to follow along. “Is something wrong?” he asks.

“Ori doesn't feel well,” Fíli says, urging the pony a little faster, Bilbo keeping pace. “We're going back.” 

“Are you still unwell?” Bilbo seems surprised, but doesn't ask again as they make their way back. 

By the time they're back in the stables, Ori is looking a bit pale, so Fíli helps him off the pony, all but taking him by the waist and lifting Ori off himself. More telling than anything, Ori lets him, and even supports himself on Fíli for a minute. 

“I was _fine_ ,” he insists. 

“The exercise was too much, maybe,” Bilbo interjects, the pair of them turning towards him. When they're both looking at him, he colours, and pulls on the braces he still wears underneath his more Dwarven style coat, rocking back and forth. “Ah, forgive me. I only meant that...I don't know what I meant actually.” 

“Is that a theme with you?” Fíli asks, getting a look from Ori for it. “Beg your pardon,” he adds, not wanting to get himself back in trouble. “Let me get you upstairs.” 

“I can get myself upstairs,” Ori argues, and when Fíli continues to hover, he sighs. “I wish I hadn't told you. I might not be, you know.”

“But you might be,” Fíli reminds him, anxious. 

“I shouldn't have told you,” Ori says to himself, pushing at Fíli. “I'm going upstairs, and you're going back to training. I know you skived off.” When Fíli doesn't deny it, because he can't, Ori is a bit kinder, running Fíli's braids through his fingers. “Fíli, I only told you so it wouldn't be a shock, and because I think it's a bad idea to have secrets between us. But even if I am, it's early, and I'm fine. I promise. Just...my cousin Shiori tells me the first few months are the worst. It doesn't mean anything is wrong.” 

He's right, but still, Fíli wants to follow him up, make sure he's actually fine. 

“Fíli, go,” Ori orders, and Fíli is going to obey, absolutely, but first he kisses Ori, sliding his hands across Ori's waist, pulling him close so that he's flush against Fíli. 

They've barely had any time as of late, but just like that, he wants Ori all alone somewhere, where he can push between Ori's legs and hear him sigh Fíli's name in his ear. Or better yet, shout it. 

“Should I go?” Bilbo interrupts, causing Ori to push against him, his face on fire. Bilbo is smirking and looking in the other direction though. 

“No,” Ori squeaks, keeping Fíli at arms length with two hands against his chest. “No, Fíli is going to go now, aren't you?” 

“Apparently,” Fíli agrees, swooping down for one more kiss to Ori's cheek. “I'll see you at supper, at the latest. You'll know then?”

“Yes.” And now Fíli has to kiss him again, just a quick one, because he might be, _he might be_. He might be, and Fíli wants to kiss him, wants to be in their bed, wants to be inside of him again. 

Ori pushes him away again though, so he pulls back, and reluctantly releases him. 

He might be. _He might be_. 

Fíli can hardly explain the feeling in his chest as he climbs the stairs back into the palace, two steps at a time, until he's back in one of the main halls. 

For just an indulgent minute, his back to the stones, he lets himself smile. It's mad, it's completely mad, because they're just going to botch it up, and really, he should be hoping that Ori isn't, that he's really just ill. It is mad. But for just this minute, he lets himself be happy, lets himself imagine a life he's never had the freedom for before. 

“What are you doing?” It's Kíli, an eyebrow raised as he looks at Fíli. “Are you drunk? Only we have work to do. And what are you doing down here? You missed training.” 

“I'm the Crown Prince, I can skip it every now and then if I like,” Fíli says, trying to get the smile off his face and failing. “I was spending time with our Emissary, in any case, so you can't fault me.”

“Spending time with Ori, more like,” Kíli corrects, getting a swing at his head for it. “Oi, be nice, you owe me. I covered for you, didn't I? Because I'm such a good brother.” 

“A good brother who's up to something,” Fíli replies shrewdly. “What did you do?” The way Kíli squirms doesn't bode well. “Kíli, what'd you do?” 

“Not telling unless I have to,” he says, turning on his heel. “Come on then, before we're missed and someone comes and finds us. You know Mother gets upset if she has to do that.” 

Fíli has no desire to rile Dís up, not now, so he follows his little brother down to the halls, where people are waiting for them, his first uncle included. When he sees the pair of them, he smiles, welcoming them closer to him in the room. He's speaking with Glóin and one of Glóin's secretaries, the conversation on the budget for their military, the commissioning of new armour and weapons. Apparently, Gimli's design has sparked a trend amongst the guilds, all determined to outdo one another with redesigns and new weapons for Erebor. For Fíli, the subject is easy, and he's happy enough to spend an hour or so going over the pros and cons of the new proposals with his uncle and his brother, while across the room, Dís is deep in negotiations with two from the Weavers', a scribe at her elbow. 

They're done before supper, but Fíli lingers to finish hammering down the finer details of the budget. He wants everything done before he leaves today, wants to be able to go home and _be_ home. He wants to know the answer _now_. 

Thorin only puts up with him for so long before drawing him aside to ask, “Something I should know about it?” 

“You'll know in the morning, I promise,” Fíli says. Thorin raises an eyebrow, but doesn't ask anything more. 

By the time he walks into their sitting room, he has no idea what he's even thinking of at all. It could be nothing, he knows, could be nothing at all but illness. Likely is just illness, really. And that's probably for the best, because what do either of them know about parenting? Nothing. They're barely finding their way through this as is, and a child is just going to make things more complicated. They might not survive those complications. 

But when Ori looks up at him from the couch, arms around himself, and nods, Fíli thinks his heart might burst. 

He settles for kneeling in front of Ori and bringing his hands to his mouth, kissing them both. “You're amazing,” he breathes, as Ori laughs, sounding half like he wants to cry. “You're absolutely amazing, you are, you're incredible.”

“You're being ridiculous,” Ori says, but he comes into Fíli's arms when Fíli stands. “It's early still, the healer said, and we're the right ages, you know, it was bound to happen sooner or later, we've been so stupid, we have,” he gasps when Fíli finds a good spot on his neck, his hands burying themselves in Fíli's hair, holding him in place. “We're not ready, we're really not, we're going to botch it up so badly, and your mother is _never_ going to leave us alone -”

“Stop talking about my mother,” Fíli orders, finding Ori's skin under his clothes. “We haven't been together in weeks -”

“Oh, you poor thing, how you've suffered,” Ori says, but the sarcasm is ruined by how he inhales when Fíli's hand goes lower, forcing them together even more, so Ori can feel him. “I've missed you too. Poor Bilbo, he couldn't look me in the face at all after you left. Hobbits don't do physical affection like that, not in the open, you know, and -” he makes a little sound and his fingers tighten in Fíli's hair. “Keep doing that, please, and can we just, not here, we don't have anything here -”

“We can do something else.” Fíli is loathe to move now that he has Ori back in his arms, and they've done other things plenty of times. Fíli likes everything, really. 

“But I don't want to do other things,” Ori says, and that's enough to convince Fíli. They're thankfully uninterrupted as they find their way back to their bedroom, Fíli unable to stop himself from stealing kisses the whole way, loving the way Ori responds, the way he breathes when Fíli pushes him up against a wall, like he can't get enough. 

He really can't seem to once they get into the room, kissing Fíli messily as Fíli crooks two fingers inside of him, Fíli wondering which time had led to this state. Oh, they're both incredibly stupid, they are. They should have been careful, they should have waited, and logically he knows this, so why isn't he sorry? 

It's hard to see that when Ori straddles him, sinking down with a sigh, hard to think about anything but how much he likes the way Ori fucks himself down with little movements, until Fíli is completely inside, likes the way Ori rides him, his hands balanced on Fíli's chest, the way his sighs change to moans when Fíli grabs him by the hips and thrusts harder. 

Ori is as boneless as a cat in sunshine by the time they're done, laughing breathlessly as Fíli explores him, trying to find any changes. 

“Early, remember?” 

“You are showing a little though, aren't you?” His stomach is just that much fuller, Fíli thinks running his hand over it. 

“Or I've been eating too much food,” Ori replies, poking at him. “Stop it. You're being ridiculous.” 

“I'm happy,” Fíli whines, coming up to him on the pillows and kissing him. “I'm very happy. You can't know how happy I am about this. This is good for us. Even if we botch it up.” 

“I don't know that it's really an 'if'.” 

“Probably not.” 

They both try at seriousness for all of another second, but Fíli breaks first, grinning as he pins Ori down and kisses him, over and over, until Ori is smiling too, wrapping his arms around Fíli's neck and laughing. 

“When do you want to tell people?” Fíli asks, before he starts doing it himself. “Should we tell your brothers first?”

Ori's face falls like a stone. “I hadn't considered them yet. Oh, no, I can't tell Nori. He's not in a good place, he can't hear this. It'll put him in his worst place, and he'll start drinking again like he did before...but I can't hide it.” 

“Why can't he even be happy about this? You're happy, can't he even try?” 

“Not about this.” Ori shakes his head, hiding his face in the pillow. “I shouldn't tell you, you'll be so angry, and if you tell anyone, Nori will be in so much trouble.” 

Fíli places his palm across Ori's stomach, and says, “I swear on their life, I won't tell. But I need to know the whole story. Your brother acts like he's just as mad as Frerin half the time from what I understand, and I need to know if he's going to be a danger to you or Erebor.” 

Shaking, Ori covers Fíli's hand with his own, and says, “Nori was trying, with Dwalin, when Frerin went mad. And he was still seeing Dwalin when Frerin was getting promises out of our mother. She wasn't in a good place when it happened, and Dori told me that she never thought Dwalin was good enough for Nori. Nori was so good-looking, so clever. She thought she could get a much better marriage for him.”

“Frerin.” There's a cold dread in Fíli's chest, because he thinks he's starting to see where this is going. 

“Frerin forced Nori.” It's almost inaudible, but Fíli is listening hard. “And it was after that Nori realized he was bearing. With the timing, it could have been either of them, and Nori...it was the last straw. He couldn't take any more. So he left Erebor, and he...he...” He can't seem to finish, so Fíli does it for him.

“He killed it.” Fíli's cousin, who would be only a little younger than him now. Another prince or princess of Erebor, a _cousin_. A child of the Crown. “Ori, he could be executed for that if anyone finds out.” 

“No, you swore!” Ori is on the verge of tears, and it's so different from how it was a few minutes ago. “Fíli, please, you swore, and no one knows outside our family, no one can know, no one can ever know, Fíli, please.” 

“I'm not going to tell,” Fíli says, distracted. “I'm not.” He should have another cousin though, and he can't let the thought go. “Calm down, I'm not.” Gently, he tucks a braid behind Ori's ear, reassuring him. “Does Dwalin know?” 

Ori nods. “He paid for it, and paid off everyone involved. He didn't want Nori to suffer any more, since he couldn't change what happened.” 

Of course he did, because Dwalin could not ever move against Frerin, no matter what. He'd never put Balin's family at risk, or leave Thorin and Dís' sides, not even for Nori. For Dwalin, duty has always been everything. 

Except in this act, this crime. He had broken his vows of loyalty for Nori. 

“Nori loves Dwalin so much,” Ori says, his eyes somewhere on Fíli's collarbone. “Please, you have to understand, he's not dangerous, not to me. But he's going to be upset. He might not want to see me for awhile.” He grabs at Fíli's hand, and places it back over his stomach, interlacing their fingers. “He won't do anything that compromises me, or mine. He won't cause trouble. And if he tries to, Dwalin will take him away, until he's better.” When Fíli starts to relax again, Ori bites his bottom lip. “What about Frerin?” 

“If Frerin comes near you again, he's leaving Erebor as well.” Fíli does not add what else he'll do, but he doesn't think he needs to. “I will keep you, and _this_ ,” he applies more pressure against Ori's stomach, “safe. No matter what.” That gets a smile, and Fíli has to kiss a smile. Ori kisses back, sliding his arm back around Fíli's neck and pulling them back down. 

Ori falls asleep not long after, leaving Fíli awake with his thoughts. 

_A child,_ he thinks. His child. 

“Nothing will ever hurt you, my little one,” he promises, leaning over them. “Or you, my pearl,” he says, brushing a kiss over Ori's brow. “I'll keep you both safe.” 

Logic be damned, but if Frerin ever comes near Ori or their child, Fíli will keep his promise.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY
> 
> THIS TOOK FOREVER
> 
> FOREVER

“Well, I could do something like this, perhaps,” the jeweller says, laying out a locket. “Lockets are popular again, after all, and it's a good piece for designs and gems. I assume you want to place a sapphire in it, of course, unless you're hoping for a girl? I have diamonds, in that case...” She sets another case out, this one with finished gemstones set in rows, varying in size and design. 

Fíli does eye the sapphires for a moment, but then he notices an amethyst twinkling near the edge. “The 'Ri family colour is purple,” he says aloud, and she raises her eyebrows. 

“I could do something with that,” she says, her mouth pinched. “I don't recommend a ring. You never know with children. Bracelets, pendants, beads, those are always safer options.”

“A locket is fine,” Fíli concedes. “Could you have my sigil be the design?”

“Of course,” she replies, smiling at him in a horribly soppy way not dissimilar to how his uncle had looked at him when he found out. “What a lovely piece it will be, sir. A bit of His Highness' family, a bit of yours.” She starts to put her things away, small boxes going inside larger boxes, going in even larger ones before being placed in the trunk she had brought it all in. “Now, the setting will be gold, as we spoke of, but did you have a preference? I just got an order of some lovely rose gold...”

“Whatever you think will set off the amethyst best,” Fíli says, tired of the questions. He's never commissioned a token before, and he had no idea how much work went into it. “If you'll excuse me, I don't have any more time today.” 

“No trouble, I wanted to meet with His Highness about his piece. He assured me he had quite the surprise for me about it.” She smiles, locking her trunk up. 

Fíli smiles back, but doesn't reply, and she takes it for the dismissal it is. She's an astute Dwarf, and Ori seems to like her, so Fíli's inclined to be favourable towards her, but he needs a few minutes alone right now. He'd had no idea how much work preparation for a child would be. First there was telling Thorin, and only Thorin so far, and then handling his uncle's surprising enthusiasm. He had not known his uncle even really liked children, but no sooner had Fíli given him the news, then the child-gifts had appeared in their home; a child's bow and a training sword, clearly new, with Thorin's own mark on the both of them. A visit too, during which Ori had thanked him profusely, all while Thorin smiled with pride at Fíli. 

He can admit that he spent most of his childhood chasing that smile, and even now, as an adult, it makes him feel like Mahal himself has looked favourably upon Fíli. 

Now they're commissioning their tokens for the babe, and that's just more work. Fíli wants it to be right, wants Ori to wear it with joy and love and hope before it goes to the child. But he feels like everything he chooses is wrong, could have the exact opposite reaction than the one he's trying to inspire.

They still haven't made the official announcement, though the servants know, as do the healers. But Ori is still trying to work out how to tell his family, and Fíli is staying out of it now. Whenever he thinks about Nori, he feels anger now, and resentment. He has no right to ask what he wants, not if Ori's version of events is true. More than likely, it is. But he can't help but want for someone he never even knew existed until now. 

For all he knows, he would have hated his cousin. 

He has paperwork waiting, budgets that require approval and guilds that need to be appeased. The Weavers' Guild has settled their dispute with the Jewellers', and the Jades are giving the appearance of being willing to be negotiated with. That's usually a good sign in the case of their leader, the one called Mother, who frankly, makes Fíli's skin crawl. 

Now of course, the Armourers' Guild is up in arms, so to speak, about the Blacksmiths' infringing on their new weapons. It's yet another headache, and really, it's his mother's problem, and Kíli's, but Thorin and Balin seem to think Fíli needs to keep his image intact with the people. Apparently the 'Ri clan are not yet completely satisfied with his marriage, and though he has allies in the clan, mostly ones he served with, led by Jori, he has enemies too. 

If he didn't care for Ori so much, this might be more awful than it is. But he does, and Ori is carrying his child now. The 'Ri will likely back off once it's announced, but until then, they have to present a happy marriage. 

Someone knocks, and then opens the door, which means he knows it's Kíli before he sees him. “Brother-mine, tell me why I'm cleaning up your mess,” Fíli drawls.

Kíli shrugs. “Tell me why my mate Itri is asking after Ori?” 

“Itri,” Fíli groans. “And what's his relation, exactly?”

“Um...” Kíli obviously has no idea, not that Fíli blames him. No one understands the 'Ri family network, except maybe the 'Ri. And even Ori seems confused sometimes about how a cousin is related to him. “Anyway, he apparently heard from his sisters in the Jades' Guild that Ori is bearing.” When Fíli grimaces, clenching the edge of his desk, Kíli starts to laugh. “Durin's name, you actually thought you could pull one over on the 'Ri. He is, isn't he?” When Fíli continues to grimace, Kíli victoriously announces, “He is! And you've been married less than year! What, were you at it every minute you were alone? No wonder you wouldn't let me have a go.”

“If you say another word about Ori in that context, I will fucking murder you.”

“Nice,” Kíli says, mocking applause. “Use of the word 'fucking' and 'context' in the same sentence. Our teachers would be proud.” 

“I'm going to hurt you,” Fíli promises, releasing his poor desk. “Why do you insist on me doing it?” 

“I'll still be prettier than you,” Kíli replies, settling down in a chair. “So, I have a question for you, one not related to your husband. Say I saw our Emissary leaving our beloved uncle's apartments at dawn, before anyone else was up.” The way his eyebrows go up tell Fíli just what Kíli in fact knows happened. “Is that a problem we should be concerned about?”

“You know it is,” Fíli replies. “Mahal, I knew Uncle favoured him too much. From the first damn day, Mahal fucking melt it down. No one ever talks back to him, damn it.”

“Who knew that's what Uncle liked?” Kíli studies a braid, frowning. “Hey, not to be rude, but do you think Ori could do my braids? Only yours look really good now.” 

Fíli throws a penknife at him, missing his brother but solidly burying it in the wall behind him. Kíli glances over his shoulder, frowning. “Are those supposed to be that sharp?” 

“I get bored during meetings,” Fíli replies, finding another knife, this one a small stiletto, part of a set he had received as a wedding gift from Balin. Three of them have already been lost, but Fíli's rather sure a servant will find them eventually. “Ori doesn't trust Bilbo. He says he's lying about his true purpose here.”

“You're telling Uncle, right? Not me?” Kíli asks hopefully, but Fíli shakes his head. 

“I think it'll be better coming from the pair of us. I don't want Ori in the room with him if he loses his temper, not in his condition, but we can always talk him 'round. And Mother cannot be there, you know she'll just make it worse.” His mother is many things, and one of those things is an unfortunately heavy dose of self-righteousness that shows itself at the worst times. She'll enjoy being correct about the Hobbit and Lord Elrond and just outsiders in general. “We need to plan this out.”

Kíli inhales sharply, his eyes on the ground. He rubs his mouth, then asks, “Why does Lord Elrond care about the Orcs and Mordor so much?” Fíli shrugs, and his brother is quiet for a long moment, clearly thinking. Finally, he says, his tone low, “Something is happening in Mordor.” 

“What do you mean?” Fíli is afraid to ask, afraid to even think about it. 

“We drove the Orcs back, and we've kept them back, or so we think. But I started looking over the reports from our outposts. Fíli, did you know their encounters with Orc raiding parties and stragglers has doubled in the past five years?” No, he did not know that. It must show, because Kíli continues. “Do you think they're planning another advance?” 

Damn Kíli, but that makes sense. “Elrond wants to know about Orc warfare,” he muses aloud. “He wants to know how they attacked, what their technology is, their numbers. He's using our experience for information. And he's assessing us, how we could handle a war. How strong the Crown is.” He leans over his desk, his fingers knitted so hard his left hand aches, and squeezes his eyes shut. “That's why Thranduil wouldn't speak with him. He knew what Elrond was doing. He didn't want Elrond to know there was dissent in his kingdom. Thranduil must think Elrond is thinking of making a move for his kingdom, and that's why he didn't want Elrond here. If we back Elrond, there will be more dissent in Thranduil's realm. He could lose his kingdom.” 

“We wouldn't do that,” Kíli says, but Fíli hardly hears it. 

“Damn it,” he says, thinking aloud. “This is why Thranduil agreed to Thorin's contract, he wants to be tied to us.” _Damn it_ , Fíli knew he should have been suspicious when Thranduil so easily agreed to the idea of a marriage contract between Legolas and Gimli, he fucking _knew_ it. “Damn it to the fucking stones, I'm such an idiot.” 

“Fucking Elves,” Kíli swears, sliding down in the chair. “I hate Elves.”

Fíli eyes him. “The redhead turn you down again?” When his brother doesn't groan or complain, his eyes narrow. “Kíli?” 

“Nothing happened, before you get your braids knotted,” Kíli says, shrugging. “Something almost happened, but I...Mahal fucking help me, I stopped it.” 

“You? Really?” Fíli can hardly believe any of it; the Elf starting something with Kíli, Kíli refusing. Kíli has never turned down sex, or even just a bit of fun, not once, as far as Fíli knows.

“She kissed me.” That he hardly believes either. He thought for sure it would be Kíli who would make the first move. It usually is. “I kissed her back. I wanted to kiss her.” Of course he did, he's Kíli. “But see, Itri had already told me. And you know, I've always known you're going to be king. I have. But Ori bearing, it just...I keep thinking that the baby is going to be the heir, and I'm a prince, and you're the heir, and I just...Mahal's beard, Fíli, I kissed her back, and I realized I could never do that to you or Erebor.” 

First Gimli telling him he would give up an Elf for him, now his own brother. Fíli is starting to accept that he is being tested. 

“You don't love her, do you?” he asks, just to be sure. 

“Not yet,” Kíli replies, not bothering to lie to Fíli. “But brother-mine, I'm asking you to assign me somewhere along the guards. Anywhere. Just keep me away from her. I can feel it happening, and I don't want it to, not if it's going to hurt you or our uncle.”

Fíli looks at him for a long moment, his little brother, no longer little, no longer a boy. “Balin's eldest is putting together a new scouting party. It's only five, and they'll be moving slowly.”

“Mahin? But she's -”

“A better tracker than you'll ever be,” Fíli reminds him. “You cannot be on the Towers, nor will I send you to an outpost. You'll go with Mahin. She'll keep you safe.” Mahin is odd, with her precise ways and her rituals, but her ways, her preciseness, make her mind sharp She sees every single thing, sees when a single blade of grass is out of place in a meadow, smells one lit torch in a whole swamp. Sometimes it can drive her mad, but that's never been a bad thing either. A mad Mahin is a Mahin swinging a sword, and her strikes are always accurate. “You asked me for an assignment, I'm offering you one.”

Kíli huffs, but he's accepted defeat. “Fine. But I'm not on fire duty. Have you ever seen her make a fire?”

“Just do as she says,” Fíli directs. “They're leaving in five days. Have your things ready and your duties assigned.” 

“I'll tell Mother,” Kíli says, sighing. “What are we going to do if the Orcs come back?”

“Fight,” Fíli suggests, feeling helpless. 

His little brother shrugs, then asks, “Is it true? What Orcs do to their babies?”

“I've never heard different, so I can't say,” Fíli replies. The stories say that once Orc babes are weaned, their parents leave them on the rocks for two days and the night that falls between. If the babe lives, they are given their first brand, to show they are strong enough. “The Orcs I've met are...” _Wrong_ , he wants to say. “Their maker made them without love, and so it goes that his creations can only feel what he felt when he shaped them. Anger, and hatred, and greed. Want.” Fíli hates believing it. He hates believing that anyone is so lost in the world. But the Orcs they'd captured in the beginning had laughed hysterically when they threatened to torture one of their brothers or sisters, had shouted _suggestions_ to hurt one another. They had laughed at screaming, been entirely unaffected by the pain of their fellow soldiers. It had meant nothing at all to them.

“Fíli,” Kíli says, pleading. “Please don't go again. Just because Ori's got an heir in his belly doesn't mean you need to risk your life. So don't. Please.” 

It's not surprising any more that his thoughts go to Ori first, Ori and their child. How would Ori do, without Fíli? What about their baby? A child growing up as an heir, without their royal parent to guide them? Thorin growing older every year, damn, his child would be the ruler when they were younger than Fíli and Ori now, most likely. 

Their baby. His child. _His heir_.

His husband, alone. 

“I'm the Crown Prince,” Fíli says, hard, as hard as he can manage. “If I don't fight our enemies, why should our people?”

“That's the most idiotic thing I've heard you say this week,” Kíli mutters. “You're married now, with a baby coming. No one expects you to lead the charge any more. You've already proven yourself. Do you hear what people are calling you now?” When Fíli shrugs, Kíli says, “The Lion of Erebor. The Lion Prince. And one day, they're going to call you the Lion King. Your child will be your cub, and everyone, _everyone_ , will be looking at you and Ori and your child. You will lead Erebor.” His little brother shakes his head, smiling, sort of. The corners of his mouth are upturned, but it doesn't reach his eyes. His dark eyes are sad instead. “You can't die by an Orc arrow, brother-mine. That sort of glory is for me now.” 

“I'd rather you live with no glory at all,” Fíli says, his mind unable to understand a world where there was no Kíli.

“And I'd rather not live as your shadow,” Kíli replies, standing. Now he's smiling though, really smiling. “Let's just hope it doesn't come to that.”

“Let's,” Fíli says, twirling the stiletto in his fingers. “The last thing we need is another war.”

“Last thing we need is Uncle getting taken in by a spy,” Kíli rightfully points out. “We have to do something.” 

Fíli steeples his fingers, elbows on his desk, thinking. “Elrond's party cannot leave until the lake thaws and the snows melt in the pass. That won't be for another few months.”

“They couldn't leave then either.” When Fíli frowns, Kíli says, “The pass is too dangerous in early spring. The mudslides and the flooding don't really stop until late spring.” 

“Damn it,” Fíli swears quietly. “What are we going to do?”

♦

Another pile of papers is placed in front of Dís by one of her secretaries, this particular young girl wincing when Dís eyes them distastefully. “Where did these come from?”

“The Minister of War, my lady,” she replies, tucking a braid behind her ear. “She's demanding your immediate attention.” The girl, Gawahir, wiggles the ring through her lip with her tongue, than says, “It's about His Royal Highness, apparently. She believes he's overstepping his authority.” 

“How exactly is Fíli 'overstepping his authority'?” Dís asks, tapping her fingers on the desk. 

Gawahir visibly swallows, and Dís almost feels sorry for her. Almost. If only she didn't insist on being such a dimwitted little mouse all the time. Dís would find her utterly useless if she wasn't so completely loyal and such a good listener. “With the Elves. She says it should be her that negotiates with the Elves. Bot parties. Not the princes and Lord Gimli.” 

Dís winces, rubbing at her temple. “I do not need this today.” Her secretary is still fidgeting, and Dís' eyes narrow. “Have you heard something you need to share, Gawahir?” The girl nods. “Are you going to?”

“His Royal Highness' husband has been to the healers,” she says, more to some point on the desk than Dís. “Often. And one of the maids says he's been sick often. And very specific about certain things.” She all but squeaks, as Dís leans over the desk, “Like smells. And food. I couldn't get anything from the healers though. Nothing to confirm it.” 

“That's enough confirmation.” She'd suspected. Thorin had been wearing that stupid look he gets when he thinks he's getting one over on her, for one. “Anything else?” 

“Well, you said we were all to keep an eye on Master Baggins and His Majesty...” The way she's all but crawling inside her embroidered hood tells Dís everything. 

“Out,” she orders, and the girl takes the opportunity to flee. Once the door is shut, she buries her face in her hands and groans. “What am I going to do?” 

She doesn't expect an answer from the shelves or the lamps or the furniture, and she doesn't get one. She'll need to get on top of this whole matter with the Hobbit before it gets out of hand, for starters. Neither of her brothers has ever shown much sense when it came to their romances, what few Thorin had over the years. Frerin, well, she has a permanent twinge in her left arm to remind her of that particular débâcle. And a married son. 

And now a grandchild.

It's good news, she knows. It's what she'd hoped for, babies to keep the line of succession strong. But now she wonders if she's pushed too hard. They're both so young. Her boy isn't even a century yet. She had at least been older, more ready, when Fíli was born. 

She wishes for Hemli again, in that abstract way she always does when something happens with their sons. He'd be so proud of them. And he'd be thrilled at the prospect of a grandchild. He'd be thrilled just to know the boys. But more than that, she just wants to speak to him. He was such a good listener, and he always knew what she needed to hear. 

Oh, but she does miss him. “Idiot.”

She needs to stop talking to herself. Her girls are already vaguely terrified of her. Granted, Gawahir is scared of her own shadow, insects, birds, and oddly enough, clock bells. 

With a bracing inhale, she stands, prepared to go deal with her son. Hiding something from her, the nerve of him. She'd at least get great amusement out of needling him for a bit before they had to discuss business. She'd needed to speak to him and his brother about the Armourers' Guild in any case, and now this business with the Minister of War. Nosy old bat. 

“Gawahir,” she says, when she steps out, getting the girl's attention. “And you, Shifra.” Another of her girls stands with Gawahir. “We're paying a visit to His Royal Highness. Get your things. We'll be working when we get there.” 

“Yes, my Lady,” they chorus, getting their scribing materials together. 

“You four,” she says, getting nods from her remaining girls, “I want one of you on the Hobbit at all times, am I understood? Unless His Majesty himself dismisses you, he is not to have a cup of tea without one of you knowing. And I want two of you watching Lord Elrond's party now. At all times. If you cannot follow, have the Mice do it.”

Noirin, already twisting one of her long dark locks around the rest so they'll be out of her face, suggests, “The Elves favour children, and many of our own are fascinated by them. We could instruct the Mice to feign the same interest. They'd likely allow them then.” 

“Wouldn't even have to feign it,” her only Firebeard, Aifric, says. “Some of the Mice fawn as much as the rest. They keep giving out presents and sweets. Our children are crafty little devils when they think there's a biscuit involved.” 

“Just get it done,” Dís orders, and signals at Gawahir and Shifra to follow her out, ending the conversation. There is no discussion of Dís' orders once they've left her offices. There is never any discussion of her orders to her girls when they're outside the safety of the offices. “Gawahir, Shifra, I need to commission toys. My brother will have the first weapons forged, so...”

Both girls are silent, until she makes a _get on with it_ gesture behind her back.

“Oh!” Shifra squeaks. “Um, are these toys for an infant, my Lady?” 

“Yes,” she answers, and hears them mumbling to one another briefly. 

“My Lady, perhaps a set of blocks? Babies enjoy blocks.” It's Gawahir, who then admits, “Well, I think they do. I've never actually been around babies. They seem very loud.” Beside her, Shifra groans. 

“Figure something out,” she says, both respond with their usual _yes, my Lady_. “Now, about the Minister of War...”

By the time she's been shown into her son's home and seated, she believes she'll at least be able to get that situation under control by the end of the week. She'll speak to Thorin sometime soon as well, before things progress too far. She's sure this flirtation can only end badly for all parties, and honestly, she's no closer to puzzling out just what the creature wants than she was when he arrived. This Elrond is quickly becoming a pain in her neck though. Damn Elves. As though Thranduil and his absolutely mad ways weren't bad enough, Thorin had to decide to load them up with the rest of the lot. 

Perhaps the Witch of the Wood intends to come visit too. Then they shall really have themselves a grand party. 

The door to the sitting room opens again, and Ori enters, Gawahir holding the door for him. Her girls are positioned outside the room, always, just in case this is the day where someone thinks it would be wise to eavesdrop on Dís. 

“I'm sorry, my Lady, but Fíli and Kíli both left to meet with Gimli about an hour ago. I could send a messenger for him though, if you need him now, but they were going hunting outside of the Gates.” He's rather loosely dressed, but she knows why. There's a change to him, one she knows well. “Umm...do you want me to?” 

“No,” she says, distracted. “No, you'll do.” 

He hesitates, then sits. “Do you like the house?” he asks, his hands in his lap. 

She looks around critically. The colour choices are...interesting, to say the least. It's not awful, but it's not anything she would have chosen. There's an awful lot of green, for one. She's never been fond of green. Anything is an improvement over the colours Hemli's sister had done the place in though. “I's improved quite a bit since the last time I was here. That yellow colour was disgusting.”

“It was,” Ori agrees. 

“And her art choices were just horrendous,” she goes on, and Ori blushes. Well, it had all been rather explicit. Hemli's sister had been a Jade, and had enjoyed the memories. “I was never glad to see the back of someone as I was her when she returned to Ered Luin. She was not a pleasant woman, nothing at all like Hemli.” 

No, Hemli had always been so pleasant, so easy. Kíli takes after him the most. 

“They were interesting.” He's being timid still, even here in his own house.

The conversation dies, and Dís internally rolls her eyes. The boy didn't inherit the easy charm of his mother then, or learned it from his brothers. Or perhaps he's just terrified of her. Fíli has been unhappy with her since before the wedding, determined to prove he was an adult who no longer needed her input. 

_Hah_. They'd see who did or didn't need their mother in a month or so, wouldn't they? See who he begged for help when Ori couldn't sleep at night. 

“So how far along are you?” she asks, getting it over with so the poor boy would stop looking as though he was about to faint. “You're not yet showing much, so it cannot be too far.”

All the colour drains from his face, and for a moment, Dís is genuinely worried that her teasing has gone too far with him. He doesn't know her very well after all, and he might take what she says to heart, whereas her sons know better. She rises and sits beside him, resting a hand between his shoulder blades. “There now, I didn't mean anything by it. I'm not upset.” Not really. Annoyed, but that still tends to be her default with her children. “This is a good thing, a wonderful thing really.” And it is, but he seems very young now, and she worries that all her pushing was a mistake. 

He looks up at her, still somewhat pale, and subtly moves a bit closer to her. “I'm early still. There won't be a baby until the summer. I'm...Fíli is excited. I'm excited. It's just...”

She laughs, her annoyance draining for the moment. The idea of a summer baby, another little life in her world, lightens her mood, and she warms to the boy a bit more. “Terror is a part of the equation no matter what, my lad. You're carrying a huge responsibility now; a new life.” She presses her palm against his belly, excited to know soon he would start to show, and she'd be able to feel her grandchild move. “In the end, it's all lovely.” 

“Is it?” Ori's genuinely afraid, and when she thinks about it, she remembers what she knew of his mother.

Without thinking, she embraces the boy, feeling him relax by infinitesimal amounts in her arms. “It's going to be all right, you'll see.” That's enough of that, so she releases him and stands. “Now, how about you give me a report on Master Baggins?”

That eases the boy more. She summons her girls while he finds one of the servants and orders them their midday meal. They'll all feel better with some food in them, especially him. She'd spent most of her pregnancies starving, her boys already the bottomless pits they still are now. 

Ori turns out to be a wealth of information on the Hobbit. He's been spending more time observing than talking with the creature, and he's clearly see a lot. “Do you believe he can be trusted?” she asks, after he tells her everything he's been able to suss out about the Hobbit's background and home. “Or is he really a spy, like I thought?” 

“He's a spy,” Ori confirms, picking at his cold chicken. “I'm not all that sure he knows he's a spy exactly though. Hobbits aren't a very deceitful people, not that I saw. My brother couldn't stand them at all. He compared them to sheep in a pasture.” 

He says _my brother_ , not _Nori_. He still hasn't gotten in the habit of using his name freely then, the habit probably long ingrained him by the rest of their family. “So is this Hobbit a docile sheep, or only masquerading as one?” 

“I couldn't tell you just yet, my Lady,” Ori replies, his food still untouched. “He's lying to me often now. I think he's finding out what he was sent to. As for the Elves he came with, they never say much to me at all. They're not fond of Dwarves, and they don't really respect what authority I have.”

 _Elves_. “I will handle them.” See them disrespect her authority. “As for the Hobbit, I suppose we could just imprison him. King Thranduil would be pleased by that, I think.” It's an option, but not one of the ones she'll use first. Lord Elrond would probably be displeased. The last thing she needs is to find out these Elves and the Hobbit are actually valuable to the Elf Lord, and have another war come to their door. 

Ori dunks a biscuit in his tea, but only eats half of it. “If there's another war, do you think Fíli will fight again?”

“Knowing my son, yes,” she replies carelessly, surprised to see his face fall when she does. “Do you not want him to?” She would have thought it would be a relief. Fíli is fond of him, that much is obvious, but Ori's family has made it clear they hate the marriage. 

Ori shakes his head, one of his hands on his belly.

Dís' eyes narrow. This might need watching too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Basically, Dís controls everything.


	16. Chapter 16

The servants have put an extra fur on the bed, and warming pans beneath the mattress, and still, Ori is freezing. He's never been so susceptible to cold, never in his life, but now he's shivering under the blankets. 

“I can't believe you can breathe, curled up like that,” Fíli drawls, crawling into bed. His body heat helps somewhat, but only a little. He sits up any way, despite the chill, because he knows what Fíli wants. First his husband kisses him, then his hands go towards Ori's belly. 

“Your hands are cold,” Ori protests, shying away a bit. “Here.” He takes both of Fíli's hands in his and rubs them, leaning over to blow on them. When Fíli's fingers feel a little less like ice, he moves them both back down to his belly, so Fíli can feel. This is his new routine whenever they're finally in bed for the night; kiss Ori's temple, then feel his belly, as though there's much to feel. He _is_ showing now though, that much he has to admit. Almost none of his old trousers fit well any more, if they fit at all. “So...”

“So...?” Fíli prompts, when Ori doesn't say anything. 

“Your mother came to visit.” He hadn't told Fíli yet, wanting to wait until they were alone, without servants to overhear. He likes all of their staff, but he's not sure just how much they can be trusted just yet. Nori has been a servant multiple times, after all. “She, um...”

Fíli straightens up, frowning. “Mahal's beard, she knows, doesn't she?”

“Does your mother know _everything_?” Ori asks, still intimidated. She hadn't been nearly so forceful at the one ill-fated dinner, but then, Ori had not been her focus then. She's not frightening, exactly, not like how Fíli and Kíli seem to see her, just... _more_. “How?”

“No one knows,” Fíli groans, throwing himself back on the pillows. “She just does. And even if she doesn't, she makes you think she does, so you end up telling her what she wants to know any way. She's incredibly fucking annoying like that.” 

Ori shrugs. “Dori knows everything too, you know. He knew whenever I had skipped my lessons, when I had broken something. He knows when Nori is up to something, always.” He laughs, and when Fíli raises his eyebrows, Ori says, “Once, Dwalin told me about how when he first met Nori, Dori had all these rules. He wanted Nori home by eleven, and he was not allowed to leave at night. He was trying to keep him out of trouble, because Nori loves trouble. Well, one night, Dwalin decided he would come to Nori. He told me he came over, intending to just see Nori -,”

That makes Fíli laugh, obviously believing that about as much as Ori did. “Dori caught him?” 

“Dwalin hadn't even thrown a rock at Nori's window yet, when Dori came out, grabbed him by the ear, and told him if he didn't go home immediately, he would take him right to Lord Balin.” Ori shakes his head. “Dori knows everything.” 

Fíli's palm comes up to rest on Ori's belly again, and Ori covers it with his own. “Why do you address Balin so formally?”

“Oh, well, I don't really know him. Dwalin was living in the barracks by the time he and Nori met, and Lord Balin was away in the Iron Hills then, I think. He was never a part of mine and Dori's lives, barely Nori's. He doesn't dislike Nori, or anything, he just...he's like Dori. He thinks Dwalin and Nori were reckless and too young.” He does sort of know him, in that peripheral way. He's never been anything short of courteous to Ori and Dori, even paying them a respectful visit when Dori's wife had died. “He's very kind though.” 

The hand on his belly rubs a small circle, and Ori's heart all but bursts in his chest. There's a baby there, and that's frightening and exciting all at once. “Does it move?” Fíli asks, sitting up on his elbow. 

“I think so,” Ori says, frowning in thought. “It sort of feels like there's something maybe fluttering in there sometimes now. Maybe I'm just imagining it.” He thinks it's still too early to be really moving or anything. “It will soon though, the healers say, and you'll be able to feel it too.” 

Fíli sits up again, and kisses Ori, his now warm hand leaving Ori's belly to cup the back of his neck. “I finished with the jeweller today. What about you?” 

“It's a secret,” Ori teases, not ready to share. He wants to see Fíli's face when he opens the box. 

His husband hums against his jawline, moving up to his ear. “You need new earrings.” He flicks one, and Ori bats at him. He'd been frightened to get it done in the first place, and had put it off over and over until finally, Dori had all but dragged him to their cousins' shop, where one of his cousins chewed on a knotted lock of hair as she heated a needle before sticking it through his ear. “I have some you could wear.” Fíli worries his lip, not looking at Ori as he says, “They're sapphires. Nice ones.”

He already wears the ring and there's sapphires on his bracelets. Wearing more might be pushing his luck with his family. “Better not,” he says, wondering only for a second if he should lie. With everything going on now though, that'll probably just cause more trouble. “I like the bracelets. And I like my ring. But maybe something less...”

“Less Durin?” Fíli suggests, his mouth a tight line. “Right.” 

Ori reaches up, cupping his face. “You're angry?” 

Fíli makes a frustrated sound and settles on top of Ori, his ear pressed to Ori's belly. “Promise me you'll like me,” he says to Ori's stomach, making Ori laugh. Fíli stays where he is, and since it doesn't bother Ori, he lets him. “Our families are absolutely mad. It's not just me, right?”

“No,” Ori agrees, more to placate Fíli as he runs his fingers through Fíli's loose hair. “They're all a bit mad.”

“I knew it. Thank you for not being mad.” He kisses Ori's belly through Ori's nightshirt. “You had better take after us.”

“I don't think he can hear you,” Ori reminds him, smiling. 

“He?” Fíli asks, sounding interested. 

Ori tries to find the right words to describe it, stroking Fíli's hair still. The repetitive gesture is soothing, and he likes the way Fíli presses his head into it and Ori's belly, like a big cat. “I don't know. _He_ feels right, for now. Better than _it_.” 

“What's wrong with 'they'?” 

“Nothing. Just, I like the way 'he' feels for now.” 

“I'll take your word for it,” Fíli mumbles, moving his head so Ori's fingers find the back of his neck. “So what else did my mother want, beyond to remind us to be afraid of her?” 

“She wanted to talk about Bilbo. I told her everything I know and even the stuff I suspect. She seemed pleased? I think? She was smiling. Sort of.” It's hard to describe Dís facial expressions, really, but he's not sure why. Maybe he's just confused, since she's not as open as Fíli and Kíli are with their feelings. “She was happy about the baby though.” That had been a relief, and she'd been comforting when he needed it, showing a warmth he hadn't seen before. 

Fíli sits up, smiling, really smiling, not like his mother. There's genuine fondness in his face, as he reaches out, running his hand down and over Ori's shoulder. His fingers catch on the fabric of Ori's nightshirt, drag it down a bit, showing skin that he leans over and presses his mouth against. “I'm happy,” he says into Ori's skin. “You are too, aren't you?”

“Not sure how happy I'll be when I'm sick like my cousin,” Ori reminds him, even as he slides his hands up Fíli's back. Sex has been more frequent than ever between them, something warm in the pit of Ori's stomach demanding it, not that Fíli has protested once. “We need to think about names, you know.”

“Not really what I'm thinking about.” Fíli's hands have started to bunch Ori's nightshirt up, revealing more skin. “You've got two more guesses.” 

Fíli has been more careful during sex, no matter what Ori says about his condition, but Ori's not sure he dislikes it. There's a gentleness there that wasn't before, and even if he likes how it was in their home that first night, he likes this too. It's sweet and easy, familiar between them. 

He's going to have a baby. The thought smacks him again, like it tends to lately. He can't ever forget it, but it still seems foreign. There's a baby growing in him, this Dwarf's child, the one who touches Ori like he's cherished. He consented, and truthfully, he wants it, wants someone all their own. 

It's just too much to grasp for now. “If your mother knows, that means we need to tell my family soon.”

“Stop talking about my mother,” Fíli groans, stopping his exploration. “Can't I just have one nice thing today?” He stops playing when he sits back and sees Ori's face, correctly reading his waning interest. “No?” Ori shakes his head, the urge gone, and Fíli's hands come out from under Ori's clothes, settling on top of them instead. “Some of your family already suspects, you know. Your cousin Itri asked Kíli about you.”

“Itri?” That makes Ori roll his eyes. “Itri is Jori's little brother.”

Fíli rubs at his mouth, lying back on the bed. “Does Jori know?” 

“He suspects. I saw him the day before yesterday, and he made that very clear. He kept asking me what I thought I would commission for you _when_ I found out. He suggested an axe,” Ori tells him, trying to get comfortable in the bed. He's just too cold tonight, no matter what he does to try and warm up. With Fíli here though, he can leech off him, and besides, he spent the day avoiding food thanks in part to Fíli, so Fíli can help. 

“Can I hint towards the axe? Jori's work is good, as you say, and I'd like having one of his pieces.” Ori gives him a shrewd look, and gets a cocky grin in response. “Still cold?” Fíli pulls him in tight, letting Ori tangle their legs together. “You're like ice. Are you all right?” 

Ori sniffs, burying his face in Fíli's shirt. “I'm fine.” Beyond the unwelcome aversion to food, he really is mostly fine, if not irritable. “I think I'll go see Shiori tomorrow. He'll know what's going on with the family, and he won't go around telling stories. Jori likes to tease too much. He said some very unkind things about Shiori's marriage, you know.” That had more to do with Shiori and Jori's antagonistic relationship than anything else, but now, when it's him, Ori isn't sure he trusts Jori with a secret like this. He doesn't want his baby to be the new gossip.

“I should go see Jori then. When is he at home?” Fíli asks, Ori bracing himself on Fíli's chest so he can look at him. “What?”

Ori swallows, feeling stupid as he says, “I'd rather you didn't go see him alone, is all.”

Fíli grunts and moves from underneath him. “For the last bloody time, I never touched him.”

“I'm not saying you did,” Ori snaps, his good mood completely broken. “I'm just -” He scowls, his temper inexplicably rising. “Everyone likes Jori. I'm not stupid, you know. I know you thought about it.” He has no idea what he's doing, why he's bringing up something they've already discussed, why the thought of Fíli going to Jori's house alone makes him so upset. 

“He was your _cousin_. I'm not stupid either, thank you. And you had plenty of affairs of your own, so I don't know why you're jealous.” Fíli has a point. He's being irrational, but he's still angry, and he doesn't know why. “Are you serious? I nearly lost an ear and my hand was all but destroyed. I wasn't exactly thinking about bedding anyone.” 

Ori wraps his arms around himself, pulling his knees up. There's tension here in their bed, where it hasn't been in a long time. “Jori would offer, you know. Even though we're married. He wouldn't think I would care, since we were arranged.” Jori is impulsive and good-natured, and he likes Fíli. 

It would hurt if Fíli consented, but it embarrasses Ori to think he has the right to tell Fíli _no_. To be possessive of him. He's Ori's husband, but he's not really Ori's. 

Fíli's face softens, and he tugs Ori back down against him. Ori goes, feeling stupid, all the heat as gone as quickly as it had come. “I am not interested in him. And even if I was, if you tell me no, I'll respect it.”

“So you would lay with someone else?” 

“ _If_ that was something we both agreed on,” Fíli replies quickly. “As we said before.” Gently, he rolls them over, and kisses Ori, his body warm against Ori's cold skin. “It's all wrong, our whole marriage, you know? But I care about you.” He kisses Ori again, longer, and Ori hides in him, feels safe now. “And I respect you. I will not do something that disrespects you.” His hand moves down Ori's side, until his thumb is over Ori's belly, his long fingers curving around Ori's middle. “Or this. You and me, we're not them.” 

The way his hand feels on Ori's waist is probably dangerous. “I'm scared,” he confesses, because he is. He's so frightened, and he doesn't know how he can be so scared and happy all at once. 

“Of what?” Fíli's eyes are darker in the dim light, but Ori still knows the colour by heart. That's one of the things scaring him, if he thinks about it. 

“Nori is my brother,” he says, voicing at least one thing. “I love him. I want to keep him safe.” And the last part, the part he hates: “Mostly from himself.”

“He really is ill, isn't he?” There's no judgement this time, only resignation. 

Ori nods, ashamed to do it. “Our mother was worse, everyone says.” Nori usually knows when he's in his bad place, knows when he needs to be alone, when he'll be cruel. Usually. “He says he'll never bear again. He can't stand the idea. When I tell him I am, I just...I don't know how he's going to react.” Maybe well. Maybe he'll be all right, maybe he'll be stable.

Maybe he'll hurt himself again.

“You can't hide a baby,” Fíli says, staying on top of Ori. “Do you want me to come?”

“No.” It'll make it even more awful and dramatic. Nori didn't even believe Ori wanted to have sex with Fíli. He'll see a baby as another violation against their family, against himself. “No, let me do it on my own. I'll tell Dori first. He'll know what to do. He always does.” 

Fíli's hand is still on his waist. “We need names.” 

The conversation has turned quiet and easy again, even if Ori's still not sure what to think of his feelings, the ones he can't quite bring himself to explore more deeply now. The baby is enough to panic over for now.

“I already said that,” Ori points out, as they settle together on the bed again, both on their sides. It's more comfortable now to lay like this for him, oddly enough. It's not as though anything is really happening just yet, is it? “This is going to be the heir of Erebor.”

“I'm the heir,” Fíli says, tucking his arm under his head. “This is just my heir for the time being.”

That's what Ori wants to talk about, actually. “I want him named for your line.”

“Why? I'm not named for Thorin, or Durin. And after your history lesson to the Emissary, I would think you'd be firm on this. Putting a 'Ri on the throne, like Lady Pari should have been.” 

“And a 'Ri will be on the throne. I'm the bearer. This baby is growing in me.” Ori doesn't need much more, even if he thought he might before it happened. It had been important then. His pride had been important. Now, this baby in him is what's important. They're... _he_ is important. What makes his life easy, what makes him strong, those are important things. “But being a 'Ri isn't what's going to make him king.” 

“Or queen,” Fíli says, his eyes on Ori's belly in a fond, distant way. “Whatever they want to be. And they can be a 'Ri in name.”

“No they can't,” Ori replies, shaking his head.

Fíli closes his eyes, and shakes his head. “I was named for my father. Not my uncle. Not my line. And I'm still going to be the king.” 

“Fíli, it's not the same thing, and you know it. I'm a 'Ri. Your father's family married into the Crown. They're respected. My family isn't the same. People...they don't know how to treat us. They never have.” Lady Pari, bearing their king's children, but not his spouse. Never that. “I don't want that for him. There's going to be enough on his shoulders. He shouldn't have to bear my family's pride too.” He's right, and he knows Fíli sees it.

“Orin, then. Or Parin, even, if you like.”

Those are considerations, but Ori has one in mind. “Fírin,” he says. There's a piece of Fíli in that name, a piece of Ori, and Durin. Durin, who haunts their kings and queens like a shadow. 

“That doesn't sound like a suggestion.” Fíli doesn't sound unhappy, only confused. “Ori, I can't...Durin's name, but I keep thinking you're only doing this because you have to, but you don't, I know you don't, and I'll give you whatever you want -”

“I know,” Ori says, because he does. “We've got time. It's not as though they're going to be here tomorrow, demanding a name.” 

“S'ppose,” Fíli agrees, closing his eyes. “Can I ask when Jori is home now, or are you going to be upset again?” That makes Ori wince, and even with his eyes closed, Fíli must know, because he's smiling. “I kind of like you being jealous over me, you know. 

Ori touches their foreheads together, closing his own eyes. “Why?”

“Because every time Kíli makes a joke, I want to hit him. Because I don't want to consider you saying yes to him. That's why I usually hit him. Make him less pretty.”

That's endearing in a way that Ori can't think about. “I don't want Kíli.”

Without opening his eyes, he tilts his head, already waiting for the kiss that quickly comes.

♦

Ori still covers his head when he goes out, more for anonymity than a sense of propriety. With his head covered and his clothes plain, no one ever recognizes him out here. It's not as though he's been seen at Fíli's side properly since the wedding. He likes it this way, being able to hide if he so chooses. Granted, if anyone he knows sees him, that'll be the end of that. With his luck it would be one of the cousins eager to align themselves with the future Consort.

Suddenly, an arm grabs him, and before he can think, he's swinging for them. 

“Whoa!” the person, cheerful, calls, and Ori's embarrassed when he realizes it's only Bofur. “What's that about then, little mouse? When did you turn into a ferret?” 

Ori adjusts his shawl, his face hot and likely as red as a ruby. “You startled me,” he says, vaguely accusatory. “What are you doing on this level?” 

“Just finished my shift,” Bofur explains, gesturing at the axe on his back. That's definitely new. Ori didn't know Bofur had the status to carry an axe openly in the city now. “I'm one of the personal guards to Prince Frerin. Got the job awhile back.”

Adjusting his shawl is easier than thinking about Frerin. “Bifur didn't say anything,” he says. “Does it pay better than the mines?” 

“Much better. I'll have enough to get the shop up and running in no time at this rate.” Bofur was actually apprenticed and trained to be a toymaker, but his side of the Ur family has never been any wealthier than Ori's. A shop has always been his goal, but the money was never going to magically appear from nothing.

Still, Frerin's guard? Ori wishes he didn't know that. Now he's worried about Bofur, about what Frerin might do to him. “That's good.” He pulls on his sleeves, upset. “I'm going to visit my cousin Shiori. Where are you off to?” 

“Oh, wherever. How about I walk you to Shiori's home? He usually has a treat to give, and I wanted to see that husband of his about some new tools.”

Ori nods, and Bofur offers his arm for him. He takes it, glad for the extra protection. No one is going to look at him much now. There's not much for him to say to Bofur though, never has been. He and Nori always got on, but he's older than Ori by just enough they don't have much in common, but not enough he has any desire to baby Ori like Bifur does. Bofur talks enough for the both of them though, about working in the palace, and all the nobs there, and how funny they are. 

They are funny, and Ori laughs in the right places, though he's only half-listening. His shirt is rubbing against his chest in the worst way, and he's anxious about seeing his cousin. 

Hrafn answers the door, his dark eyes unreadable behind his thick beard and moustache. “Who are you?” he asks Bofur, as he steps aside to allow them both entry. 

“Bofur? We met before.” When Hrafn continues to look down at him blankly, Bofur tries, “Bombur's brother?” 

Hrafn's eyebrows draw down as he attempts to place Bofur, but finally, he nods, and turns to Ori. “Shiori is in the kitchen. He will not rest.” He sounds upset over that.

“I'll see if I can get him to try,” Ori promises, leaving the two of them. Bofur is, as always, friendly enough to be rude but able to pull it off, leading Hrafn into the sitting room with an arm trying to reach over Hrafn's tall, broad shoulders. 

In the kitchen, Shiori is stirring something in a pot over the fire, chopped vegetables on the counter. “What are you making?” Ori asks, when Shiori looks over at him. 

“Carrot soup,” he answers. “I've been craving it for days, but haven't had time to actually make it. Who was at the door with you?”

“Bofur, Bombur's -”

“I know who he is,” Shiori mutters, rolling his eyes. “Used to come in to the Kitchens, tracking dirt everywhere and smelling like the mines. And he's tried to stick his fingers in everything! Even Jori doesn't do that.” 

Ori sits, folding his shawl up, preparing to hear whatever Jori has done to Shiori this time. “You're angry with him again?”

“His _delightful_ little rumour is still circulating, especially now that the whelp is showing. If I hear one more whisper, I'll be throwing a body down the mines, related to me or not.” He tastes, and adds more pepper to the soup. It smells good, even to Ori's newly uneasy stomach. Maybe he's just needed something more familiar. Their cook is good, but she makes “nob” food, as Bofur would say, and most of it has unsettled Ori's stomach. “I mean really, if it was spite, I could understand, but no, he just wanted to stir things up because he has nothing better to do than cause trouble for his own amusement.” 

“You didn't even know you were carrying until after you were married,” Ori points out, but Shiori's wince has him raising his eyebrows. “Is that why you got married?”

“We were already engaged, and no, it wasn't on purpose. We got carried away a few times, is all.” Shiori doesn't notice Ori's blush at first, but once he does, he snickers until Ori hides his face, embarrassed, but not in a painful way. “It's why we got married so fast, is all. Hrafn's family is...well. They want children. You should have seen his parents' faces. I thought they were going to force us to come live in the family house.” 

“Hrafn thinks you should sit down, by the way,” Ori says, scratching subtly at his temple. If Shiori sees him doing it in his kitchen, he'll turn all red and blotchy. “And you should.” His cousin is showing much more now, and more importantly, his hair is down in a plain braid today, though there's a brown ribbon worked in at least. “How does it feel?”

“You'll know soon enough,” Shiori replies.

Ori thunks his head lightly on the table. “I could have Jori killed. Fíli would do it, if I asked.”

“Much as I hate to dissuade that notion, I didn't hear it from Jori. I can tell, is all. You've got that look to you.” He's heard people say there's something special about those bearing, but he's sure they don't mean what Shiori says next, which is, “Pure terror.” 

“I'm not terrified,” Ori protests mulishly. 

“Are too,” Shiori chirps, satisfied by the taste at last. He places a lid over the pot, and steps back from the fire, joining Ori at the table. “Don't worry about Jori. You know how he is. If he was really bothering me, I'd just have Hrafn and his sister go up to Jori's shop and shake him until his teeth rattled. He knows it, I know it.” 

“Why do you let it keep going then?” 

Shiori exhales, his hands resting on his belly. “Because the truth is the truth, and nothing will change that. Hrafn loves me, more than anyone else ever has, and he's good to me. I wanted to marry him for those qualities, not because he's a lord. I don't care about that. And we were going to get married, baby or not.” 

“...And you love him, right?” Ori asks tentatively, not at all sure about how appropriate the question even is. 

His cousin frowns, trying to see something in Ori's face. “Yes. I loved him from the first day. Do you remember, he brought me those herbs?” Ori nods. “He used to come around the Kitchens to eat his meals instead of going home. He never stared at me. Barely said two words to me on a good day. But he listened when I talked. He handed me that wreath though, and I just....” He's smiling, really smiling, his eyes bright, but the light dims when he narrows his eyes at Ori. “Why are you asking?” 

Ori doesn't really have an answer, not one that can explain how he feels when Fíli looks at him, when he puts his hand on the small of Ori's back. 

When he's inside of Ori.

“He's very charming,” Shiori says, looking at his soup over the fire, not Ori. “Hrafn served under him. He likes him, which says more than you know.” 

“He doesn't really like anyone, does he?” Hrafn's never rude, not like Nori, but he's never friendly either. 

“It's not that,” Shiori protests. “People just make him uncomfortable. Once he's used to someone, he's much warmer.” Ori will have to take his word for it. “You know, ours are going to be the same age. Maybe they can play together.” 

It's the first time someone outside of Fíli and him have mentioned it without worry about the politics or Ori's health, the first time someone has speculated on what the baby is going to be like. On something as innocuous as the baby playing. “Do you think it's mad, having one so early?” 

“I think you're the one who gets to make that decision,” Shiori says. “You're young, but neither of you are children. And you both have an obligation. It's you two making this choice, not anyone else.” He reaches across the little table and Ori meets him in the middle, glad for the touch. “Is he happy too?” 

Ori nods, smiling. “He's always touching me now. And he started talking to it.” 

Shiori chuckles, letting Ori go. “Hrafn does too.” Ori feels a presence behind him, and when he looks over his shoulder, Hrafn is standing in the entryway. The big Dwarf blocks almost all the light from the hall when he stands there, and once he comes into the kitchen, he makes the room seem even smaller. His dark hand on Shiori's face highlights how much paler Shiori seems, and when he bends to kiss Shiori's temple, his black braids make Shiori's hair redder. 

They move together easily, and the way Shiori looks up at him removes any doubt that might have been in Ori's mind about their relationship. “Sit, my love. I will finish this.” 

“I am not an invalid,” Shiori protests, but Hrafn shakes his head, going to the pot. “Where is Bofur?”

“Eager for another look?” Bofur asks, leaning into the little kitchen. “As good as you remember?” 

“Cleaner than I remember,” Shiori drawls, while Hrafn minds the soup. “What are you doing here any way?” 

Bofur stays in the doorway, seeing as how the room is already becoming crowded. “Commission for your husband.” He winks at Ori, leaning on the door frame with his arms crossed. “How much longer do you have?” 

“I'm halfway through it now,” he answers, glancing at Ori. “Have you gotten another job? Only your fingernails are clean. You can't be in the mines any more.” 

“No, gone and gotten myself a fancy post in the palace. Well, Bifur got me the job. I'm a guard for Prince Frerin, if you can believe that.” He announces it cheerily, but Shiori's mouth draws in a tight line and he looks at Ori again, asking another question. Ori shakes his head as subtly as he can, and Shiori manages a smile.

“Better pay, I suppose,” he says, and it thankfully sounds genuine. 

“Aye,” Bofur agrees, pulling his hat back on. “Well, thank you for your hospitality. I'll take my leave now. Promised my brother and sister I'd visit with them today.” He nods politely to Shiori and Hrafn, then to Ori. “Your Highness.” 

“Very funny,” Ori huffs, getting a knock on the head for the cheek. 

Once the door is shut, Shiori says, “I would love to hear you explain how this is not going to end badly.” When Ori looks at Hrafn, Shiori adds, “I have no secrets with Hrafn. He asked about the arrangement, I explained.” 

“'Ri secrets are my secrets now as well, Ori. Especially when Shiori insists.” It's the most Ori has ever heard Hrafn speak at once, his deep, soft voice level despite the subject matter. “I'll keep the secret in your belly too, until you announce it.”

Shiori preens. “I did tell you he would warm up.” 

“Why do you know?” Ori asks, aghast. 

Hrafn shrugs. “Are you eating?” He's getting bowls off one of the shelves. “Shiori didn't eat much in the beginning. Felt ill.” 

“I have too, but that smells good. Could I have some?” Hrafn nods, and gets another bowl down, ladling out soup for all of them, and cutting bread as well. Ori feels rude, but he still asks, “Shiori, you haven't made any of those apple tarts lately, have you?” 

“No, sorry, but I could send you home with the recipe for your cook, if you like?” 

It's kind, but Ori shakes his head. “She's not much of a baker, not like you.” 

“Well, then, I'll have one of those little ingrates they strapped me with bake some and send a basket over.” 

“But you could come,” Ori insists, worried his cousin thinks he isn't welcome. “The both of you. You're both welcome whenever you'd like a visit. I'd like it.” Mostly because he thinks that after he speaks to Dori and Nori, he's not going to be very welcome in his own family home. He hates to think it, and it makes him want to cry, but the longer he spends here in this pleasant little house, the more he accepts why he's putting off seeing his brothers.

Shiori smiles. “Of course. You and I will have a lot to talk about, won't we?” 

Ori spends another hour or so with them, but eventually, he makes himself leave, and he walks to the new house. Knocks on the door. Dori opens it, and smiles.

Then his smile drops. 

And he becomes grim, standing there in the doorway.

Ori's shawl is still around his shoulders, after all.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LOOK
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> ART!
> 
>  
> 
> [The Kids by Pariahsdream](http://pariahsdream.tumblr.com/post/89526095351/for-themarchrabbit-because-she-lent-me-a-copy-of)
> 
>  
> 
> It's so pretty. I feel like that baby monkey with the drawing in _Tarzan_.

Ori's not sure what he expected Dori to say. A realistic, cynical part of himself knew Dori wouldn't be happy, but a younger part had hoped for something better than, “Of course.” 

“I chose this, you know,” Ori insists, because now he thinks he had, despite his misgivings. He had been frightened when he had suspected, is still frightened, but when the healer had confirmed it, he'd been happy. He'd been _happy_. “I think this is good.” He'd been so happy knowing he and Fíli would have someone who was theirs, just theirs, that they had done what they were supposed to do without coercion. “I'm happy. Why can't you be?”

“Because you're not even one hundred,” Dori replies sharply, his fingers tight around his teacup. “Neither of you are. You think that this is a game, neither of you have any idea how hard it is to raise a child. You think it will be fun and happy, but children are _work_ , Ori. They require so much. You were the easiest child anyone ever knew, and I was still at my wit's end some days. Without my wife and Nori and the rest of our family, I don't know what I would have done.” 

“And I won't have anyone at all, is that what you're saying?” It hurts, digs under Ori's breastbone and stays there, because it's _Dori_. “You'd just...you'd leave me alone, you wouldn't want to be in my life at all?” His throat feels too tight, and before he can stop himself, he's crying messily. Frantically, he tries to wipe at his tears with his sleeves, tries to get himself under control, but it's somehow impossible.

Dori's arms come around him, his older brother standing beside his chair so Ori's head was level with his chest. It makes him think of being little again, of always running to Dori when he had been hurt or upset. And _that_ just makes him cry more, holding onto to Dori and probably ruining his shirt. 

“There, there, my little mouse,” Dori soothes, stroking his hair. “It's not as bad as all that.” When Ori still can't stop crying, Dori sort of laughs, and says, “You really are carrying, aren't you?” 

“That's what the healers said,” Ori confirms, unsure of Dori's meaning. “You'll help, won't you?” 

“I want to say no, and I have every right to say no, because you have been very stupid.” When Ori looks up at him, upset, Dori visibly relents. “Of course I will help, silly child. The pair of you are too young to do it right, for pity's sake. You're barely past being children yourselves.” 

Just as quickly as they came, the tears subside, and Ori wipes at his face furiously. His nose is running, so he sniffs, tries to stop it, but Dori holds out a handkerchief for him. Because he's Dori and he always takes care of Ori. 

Ori blows his nose, his breathing slowly coming back to normal. He feels like an idiot, crying in Dori's kitchen like a little child, and his face burns with embarrassment. “I'm sorry,” he says to his knees. “I don't know why I did that.”

“Because you're carrying a babe,” Dori replies, leaving him to pour the kettle over the strainer in both their cups. Mint tea, Ori sees, when Dori sets it in front of him. 

Mint.

Ori's stomach drops, and he looks up at his elder brother. “You knew.”

“I suspected.” Dori bustles about, adding biscuits to a tray. “You've been married for months now, and you suddenly need to visit me in my home? It doesn't take a particularly bright individual, my little love.” 

His brother sets out the honey beside the tea pot, and sits back down across from him at the little kitchen table. Dori sighs, and just like that, his brother does what he always does when he's upset with one of them. His anger melts off and is replaced by resolve to sort out whatever trouble they've gotten themselves into.

After all, it had been Dori who had helped arrange what Nori needed, all those years ago. 

“You want this, then?” he asks, spooning a dab of honey into his tea and stirring it without the spoon once clinking against the cup. Ori still can't manage that. Fíli doesn't even try. “You want to take this on?”

Ori swallows, the tea helping more than he thought it would. He hasn't been having too bad a time of it, truly, and he thinks his stomach might be more upset from nerves than anything else right now. “I do. Well, I think I do. I'm happy, I know that. And I just...” He bites his lip, and tries to find the words. Dori and Nori have always been better at doing the talking, never needing Ori's input at all. 

It's easier with Fíli, and Kíli, and Gimli, actually. Maybe because they're all the same age, with some of the same interests. Or maybe because they think Ori has something worth listening to, and with them, he feels somewhat the same. 

“Fíli and I get on so well, you see. I've tried to tell you. And I like sharing his bed, for now.” Ori tries to stir in some more honey, his spoon clinking noisily in the quiet kitchen. “I might feel differently in a few years. And this has to be done. I'm not stupid. I know that. I know Kíli better now too, and I don't think he's one for children, or that he really wants one. I think he'd be good with one, but only a brother-child.”

“People change, Ori,” Dori reminds him, raising his eyebrows over his teacup. “He's young, and I have no doubt that he will grow up and do his duty -”

“Like Thorin did?” Ori asks, hardly believing his daring. “Dori, what if I end up hating Fíli? And we haven't had children? I don't want to be forced into it. This way, if we do hate one another later, we don't have to interact at all. It'll be done.” 

“That's very logical,” Dori says, “And not at all the truth.”

Ori's fingers twist in his sleeves, possibly ruining them. Dori _always_ knows when either of them are lying, Nori and Ori both. “Could you just pretend you don't know everything, just the once?” 

“What would that accomplish?” Dori sniffs, still eyeing him. “Now, out with it. You tell me how it is.” There's no threat, there never needs to be, not with Dori. 

The truth is something even Ori's not sure of. He knows how it feels to held by Fíli, to stroke his hair in the night when he shakes from his dreams. How easy they've learned to be with one another, how comfortable they are. How Fíli kisses him. “I wanted it.” It's strange to say it out loud, acknowledge it, and he's not sure just how true that is either. “So does he.” 

“There we are,” Dori says, sounding satisfied at last. Not happy, but satisfied. “I should have known it would go this way. You've always been so in love with grand tales and the like. He is rather grand, in his own way. The Lion of Erebor, as Jori keeps calling him. Golden Prince.” He gives Ori a shrewd look, and asks, “Do you love him?” 

Ori knows Dori wants to hear _no_ , but he'll be cross again if Ori outright lies. “I don't know.” Dwarves don't love easy, and rarely more than once in their lifetimes, this Ori knows. Everyone knows it. Dori had loved just one, and so has Nori, in all the years they've been alive. “He makes me happy.” _My pearl_. Every time Fíli says it, Ori wants to smile. “I make him happy.” 

He had been particularly obnoxious this morning, kissing Ori first on the mouth, then the stomach, his moustaches tickling the soft skin there. Ori had pushed at him, laughing, but that had just gotten him pinned and kissed again. 

“And this makes him happy?” Dori doesn't need to specify. 

“The fact he hasn't run around telling everyone who will listen is surprising.” Saying it makes him think of Shiori, groaning about Hrafn. “Have you seen Shiori at all? He's showing now. I cannot believe he's staying home though.” Shiori hates being still. Ori had been surprised he even sat down in the kitchen to let Hrafn take over.

“He doesn't have a choice. He fainted at the guild house, and half the guild all but went into a panic.” When Ori's eyes widen, Dori huffs impatiently. “Oh for the love of Mahal, you saw him, he is fine. It happens when you don't take care of yourself, and he had skipped his breakfast. He was very lucky he had the good sense to do it in the storage room. Landed on a pile of fabric. I was more worried about the two assistants with him, they almost went into hysterics, the poor children.” His eldest brother snickers, as much as he ever does something so undignified. “Of course, I felt sorrier for them when Shiori came to and shouted at them for letting the bread burn while they panicked. They cried.” 

“Is everyone so cruel to their apprentices?” Ori asks, not sure if he should laugh or not. 

“Cooks are,” Dori says dismissively. “It's for their own good, though it looks cruel. It teaches them how to do their jobs right no matter what the interruption, and manage in chaos, which most kitchens are. By the time they're real cooks, they'll be able to make a five-course meal in the midst of a pirate raid.” 

Dori stands to get a bottle out of the wine rack. It's a good bottle, Ori knows, from being taught by Dori, and he's suddenly pleased that Dori can have it in the kitchen, that Dori can _have_ things now. The marriage payment had been very good, and with Nori working again, and not needing to support Ori, they must be very comfortable. “Would you like a taste?” 

The thought of wine on his already sensitive stomach is unpleasant, so he shakes his head. “No, but thank you.” 

“Probably for the best.” Dori uncorks the bottle and pours himself a glass, rejoining Ori. “Shiori will be pleased that you're carrying. It'll give Jori something new to talk about, and Shiori won't be forced to kill him. I swear, those two...”

“I still don't understand why anyone cares about the whole thing.” It feels so mean-spirited, the way his family likes to behave as though Shiori did something wrong. 

“My little mouse, eventually you will learn that even when people know the truth, they like scandalous stories better. And unfortunately, Shiori has always been a little too high and mighty for most of our family, and they like the idea of him being less than proper.” That's true at least. Shiori has never liked being seen as a 'Ri. “And half of them are just jealous that Shiori made himself a love match with a noble. Hrafn worships him, and everyone knows it and it makes them spiteful. They want to believe he cheated.” 

“But he didn't,” Ori protests, not liking to believe that his family could be so petty. “You know he didn't.”

“And so does Jori, but that doesn't mean he cares.” 

“I've never understood why they have to be so hateful towards one another,” Ori says, shaking his head and finishing his tea. 

Dori sighs, and takes a slightly too-long sip of his wine. “Because being hateful, spiteful, angry, and all those other words runs in our family.” He takes another long drink. “Which brings me to Nori. You have to tell him. Did you think of that? That you would have to tell him you were willingly carrying the line of that family?” 

Ori doesn't have anything to say to that. Nori had been upset just talking about it. He'll be a wreck when he finds out, and all Ori can hope for is that it's a manageable wreck. “Will you tell him?”

“I thought you were an adult.” Dori is mocking him, but he knows Ori's meaning.

“You know how to comfort Nori,” Ori says. “You'll know how to make it easy for him.”

“I'm not sure there is a way to comfort him through this.” Dori finishes the glass, and rises to pour himself another, surprising Ori. Dori isn't indulgent with wine, not like Nori, or Ori on occasion. It makes Ori feel guilty, the idea that he's made Dori want to drink. “Perhaps Dwalin would take him away for a bit. He could work in Dale for a season.” 

“Would he be willing to?” Now that Nori is back in Erebor, Ori can't see him ever leaving. He's been happy to be home, back in the guild with their family and his old friends. 

“He might not have a choice, if he can't behave. I won't risk him losing his mind again, and telling anyone what happened. You know how he is when he loses his temper.” At that, Ori has to be very careful to keep his face straight, for fear Dori will see the truth again.

He still can't believe he told Fíli. It hadn't been a mistake, he thinks, but it hadn't been all that wise either. For Fíli, it would have been another cousin, a friend to grow up with like Kíli and Gimli, and even though he never knew until know, it seems to bother him deeply. But he's promised to keep the secret, promised on their child's life, and Ori trusts that, if he trusts nothing else. Fíli is not a liar.

“Ori, I have to ask,” Dori sounds reluctant, but he presses on. “I _have_ to ask, just to be absolutely sure. You can tell me anything, you know. Anything, and I will protect you. You wanted this?”

For a moment, he doesn't understand, but once he does, his heart breaks a little more for his second brother. “Yes, Dori. I wanted him. Fíli isn't Frerin. He never had to force me.” And he never would have, Ori knows. “I'm young. We're both young. But this has to be my life now, and I don't regret this.” 

“You say that now,” Dori argues, and he only means well, but Ori shakes his head furiously. 

“You want me to regret my child?” he asks, and Dori's face falls. 

“No, oh no, my dear child, no,” he says, reaching out across the table to take Ori's hand. Ori withdraws pettily, refusing to be placated. “Oh, my little gem, no. I don't want that. I would never want that.” 

“Then why do you have to be like this? Fíli is not Frerin, and I'm not unhappy. Stop trying to make me unhappy. I don't want to be. I want to be happy that I'm going to have a child, and that my husband is happy, and I...can't you be happy too?” Because Ori _is_ happy. He's happy every time he touches his stomach, happy and somewhat terrified, and mostly sick, but happy. 

“Because I remember what happened,” Dori reminds him, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Nori came home that morning, and he was... Ori, he couldn't even cry, he was so shocked, but for all that, I could not _fix_ it. I could not make it better, and I had never felt so helpless in all my life. And when he realized he was carrying, the only thing I could do for him broke my heart. My wife had just had her first episode, and we knew what the future held for her, and you were so young, and on top of all that, I had to comfort Nori while I helped him kill my own brother-child. It was not easy for me, Ori! None of it was.” Dori takes a deep breath, and Ori sees he's holding back tears. “You were all we had, at the end of it. And they took you too.” 

“I'm not a thing, I'm not gone,” Ori protests hotly. “I come see you, and you can come see me any time you like, you just choose not to -”

“I choose not to go into that palace or his home!” Dori is furious, but so is Ori now. He stands, catching his balance on the back of his chair as he does. “I look at him, at that family, and all I can see is the pain they caused us, and how we had to give you up to save ourselves!” 

“I chose to go through with it!” Ori thinks he might start crying again, but he doesn't want to. “We had other options. You know we did. But I chose this, for Nori, for you. And I am done having this same old argument. I'm tired of it! So stop bringing it up every chance you get!” 

“Ori you just can't...” Dori trails off as he stands, and there's a moment where he thinks Dori is going to say something, reach out for Ori, but he doesn't. He turns his back on Ori and refills his wine glass, before sitting back down.

“I can do as I like,” Ori replies, when Dori doesn't say anything else. “I am an adult, and I made a decision. You are not going to ruin this for me, and if you cannot support my choices, or my baby, then -”

Dori is looking over Ori's shoulder, and when Ori turns, he sees Nori standing in the doorway, staring at Ori, his face twisted in some emotion Ori can't immediately name. “Nori,” he calls desperately, but his brother doesn't acknowledge him as he turns and walks out the kitchen door. 

Ori's arms come around his middle, his throat unbearably tight. 

“He'll be...well...” Dori covers his face with his hands. “I'll send for the herbalist. She'll mix something up for him, keep him calm.” When Ori twists his sleeves, about to cry, Dori says, “Not poppy milk. I'll make sure they know not to give him that.”

The last time they had given him poppy milk, it had taken almost a full season for the cravings to ease for poor Nori. He had been worse than ever, angry and begging and pleading and lost in fever. Ori had been helpless, as he watched Dori apply cold compresses to Nori's head and joints, the windows drawn shut to make sure no one saw the second 'Ri brother in Erebor, so no one would know, no one would tell. The whole time, Dori had cared for him without complaint. 

As an adult, Ori can appreciate just what that meant, just what Dori had bore those long months. 

Dori purses his lips. “Little gem -”

“I wanted it.” Ori needs to say it again, needs to tell them both until they understand. “I wanted to be bearing. I thought it would be easier this way, but...Dori, please...” 

“Oh,” Dori soothes, coming around the table to Ori so he can kneel in front of him, taking Ori's hands. “Oh, my little one, no, no, I know. I don't blame you. You have to live your life now, I know that. I'm not happy about it, but I understand.” He bows his head to Ori, breaking Ori's heart into pieces as he does it, until his temple touches Ori's knees. “He's not a bad sort. And the lineage must be continued. Whatever other reasons you have, I...I cannot. Not now.” He starts to rise, still holding Ori's hands. He squeezes them and says, “I just need time.” 

In his deepest, most secret fantasies of this situation, he'd wanted Dori to be really happy for his coming brother-child. Silly of him, really. “You should go talk to him.” Because he's the one expecting a baby, but Nori is delicate too.

“No,” Dori disagrees, standing, helping Ori to do so. “You need to.” 

Dori always knows best.

Nori is standing in the courtyard the new house shares with a few others, his pipe out, but unlit. The pipe is shaking in his hand, his eyes far away from all of them. 

He knows what Nori needs to hear, but he stumbles over the word still, even after all these years of _knowing_. “It wasn't rape. Fíli has never raped me.” The tremors in his second brother's hand increase until he drops the pipe, the old thing falling to the ground. “Neither of us are responsible for what happened, Nori. And you can't ask either of us to be. I have to bear children. It's expected. I wanted to do it on my terms, not theirs. I...” He swallows, and it hurts. “Nori, I care for him. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, but he's not Frerin, and I'm not you, and I wanted to bear a child now, while I liked him, while he liked me -”

“He never struck me.” Nori still isn't looking at Ori. “So I couldn't prove it. I couldn't prove anything. He didn't have to strike me. All I could see was that madness in his face, that drive, and...you were just a baby. You could barely stand. Dori's always taken care of us, and Frerin would have ruined him and our sister. I...” He doesn't have to say more. He doesn't. Ori steps forward, and leans on his brother, lets Nori lean on him in turn. “I would do anything for you two, you know. Anything at all.” 

A door opens and shuts on the upper level, and Ori looks up. One of the neighbours is on their balcony, lighting a pipe. They seem disinterested in the pair of them, but Ori still pulls his shawl up and over his head, hiding himself. 

“You'll never have to wear that again,” Nori says idly, pulling away. “How far along are you?” 

“Not very,” Ori replies. “They said I'd be able to feel it moving soon.” 

“Hmm,” Nori says, sitting on one of the stone benches. Ori sits beside him, unsure of what to do. “I never got that far. I had a bad time of it. I knew I was bearing very early. Early enough I could still take the poison.” 

“Did it hurt?” Ori has always wondered. 

“Yes,” Nori answers, and Ori notices his pipe still lying on the ground. “I thought I was going to die, it hurt so bad. But then it was over, and I felt...empty. I still think about it. What if it had been born with black hair and Dwalin's eyes? What if I killed our child?” 

Ori swallows. “And if it had been blond?” 

“That was the fear. I couldn't carry that Dwarf's child. I couldn't be a parent to it. Maybe some could, but I could not. I could not stand the idea of it in me, in my body, of any other violation against me.” Nori still won't look at him, but his body seems to be relaxing. “I never wanted a child back then, not until I met Dwalin. I didn't dislike children, I just didn't see the point. One day though, Dwalin was playing with one of his brother-daughters. Kiri. She was just a little thing then. She was around twenty, had this little puppet he was helping her untangle. I watched him for awhile, and I just...I wanted to have a baby with him. I wanted to be with him forever.” 

“And Frerin?” He wants to know. He knows some of it, but he wants to know the rest. 

His brother exhales hard. “It's almost funny. I never actually knew Frerin very well. Isn't that funny?”

“No,” Ori says.

“No, I suppose not. I don't know what made him focus on me. We never really had a proper conversation even. But all that time, Mama was making deals behind my back. She was so proud when she told me what she had done. She was...I know Dori doesn't tell you much about her. He worries you'll hate her. You never knew how wonderful she could be. She could be, you know. But by the time everything went bad, she was drinking again, and she was properly mad. Up and down. She could be happy with you one minute, and angry the next.” No one has ever told Ori this before. Dori has been reluctant, and he knows why, but Nori has never been Dori. No one could be Dori. “She promised me to that Dwarf, gave me away like she had the right. It nearly broke Dwalin's heart, and it certainly broke mine. He hurt me. He hurt me so badly. Only Dori could touch me after. Dwalin tried and it hurt. It took years. And Dwalin waited.” 

“Dwalin loves you,” Ori says, because he knows that, if he knows nothing else. Dwalin loves Nori with all his heart. Everyone who knows them knows that. “He would do anything for you.” 

“Yes, he would.” Nori doesn't sound happy about that. 

“We were talking about names. Fíli offered to name the baby Parin.” He's not sure what it means. He thinks it means Fíli feels that same thing Ori does when Fíli's hand finds the small of Ori's back, or his waist. Or when he talks to the baby. When Fíli had talked to him last night, his hands on Ori's belly, Ori had felt something he has no way of explaining. 

Nori huffs. “Romantic, but stupid.” He makes a pained face. “Romantic though.” There's a moment where Ori isn't sure what Nori is going to say or do, but then his second brother says, “He cares about you. And you care about him.” 

“Nori -”

“I've seen you two together. Even when you thought you were alone. The way he looks at you. I wanted to blame him for Frerin's crime, but the way he looks at you...” Nori stands and bends to grabs his pipe. “The way you look at him.”

Ori cannot deny it. Not any more. “Would you hate me if I fell in love with him?”

“I think it's more 'will I hate you _when_ you fall in love with him'? Little mouse, I think you are lying to yourself if you still think you're not. You let him put a baby in you, and not because of obligation. Because you trusted him.” His elder brother seems very tired right now. “Won't be long. You'll have the baby, maybe, and you'll adore it. He'll adore it. Might be before that. Either way, won't be long before you're a part of his family.” 

“Never,” Ori promises, trying to mean it. “I'll always be a 'Ri.” 

Nori reaches out, and touches Ori's belly. “But this one isn't. And you're going to love it more than anything in this whole world.” He smiles, but he looks like he's going to cry. “More than me and Dori combined.” 

“Nori...”

“I think about it all the time, you know. If Frerin hadn't hurt me. If I'd known for sure and kept it. I think about a child with black hair, shaved into a crest like his. Because he would have insisted, and I'd have given in. Even if it had red hair.” Nori drags a hand over his own red hair, and he is crying now. He's crying, and it hurts Ori. “Much as that arsehole hurt me, he hurt Dwalin too. Dwalin wanted a baby. It hurt him to know it could have been his.”

And yet he still paid. He still paid, still took Nori to a healer who would do it and made sure no one would tell. “He loves you.” 

Nori laughs. “And yet another sad little note in this story! Poor noble Dwalin, in love with the pathetic little 'Ri.” 

“You're not pathetic.” Nori is angry and acerbic and sometimes self-absorbed, among his negative traits, but he's never been pathetic. 

“Our family thinks -”

“Half our family thinks Fíli keeps me locked up, and they think he rapes me.” Ori's hackles are up over that, but he feels less angry for it now that he's spoken to Shiori. His cousin had laughed when Ori confessed to his strange jealousy over Jori. “He can't even keep his braids from being crooked. And he cheats at cards.” Ori shakes his head, his hand on his belly. “He's the Lion Prince.”

Nori smiles, his eyes closing. “You know, there was this one time, when you were...maybe forty. Fíli was in the lower levels with the king. Checking in with the miners. Letting them see their king, their future king. I was visiting Bofur. I saw them, and I wanted to hate them. I wanted to. But he was this, bright, happy child, asking all these questions, just like you did. He was curious, just like you. Some part of me wanted him to be a little monster, just like Frerin. But the bigger part of me was relieved. I hated it, but I started to hope you would at least have a kind husband.” 

“Then why do you want me to hate him?” Ori demands.

“Because I'm selfish, Ori.” Overhead, the neighbour is watching them in an idle sort of way. “I know you don't remember, but Dori was different before he got married. And after our sister died, he was never anything like who he was before. He loved her too much. And Dwalin, after what happened...he treats me differently. You were the last person I had left who still loved me best.”

It's not the answer Ori expected, and his arms come around his brother, holding him. “It shouldn't have happened,” he says, because it's not fair. It's all so horribly unfair. 

“A great many things should never have happened.” Nori holds onto the arm Ori has around his front, pressing his mouth against Ori's clothed skin. “You shouldn't have had to pay for his crimes either. His family should have done what was right, and I should have justice. But none of those things are possible.” 

He's right. It's unfair and it's awful, but he's right. 

The neighbour is still standing there, smoking, watching them rather intently now. Ori doesn't recognize him, but he clearly recognizes Ori now. His gaze is unsettling, Ori pulling the shawl tighter around himself. “Nori, we need to go back inside,” he says quietly. 

Nori looks up in the direction Ori flicks his eyes at, and then says, very quietly, “That Dwarf isn't anything you need to worry about. He's a Weaver, and he wants more gossip for the vats. Probably get a few drinks out of this.” 

“You're just going to let him talk about you? As though you were the one in the wrong?” The circumstances are so mysterious, so clouded, almost everything said in the guild about it are lies. Some are closer to the truth, some more sympathetic towards Nori. Some not. People always love a good bit of scandal, don't they, as Shiori said.

“It's not as though I care,” Nori says. 

Ori's eyes narrow, and with a sudden burst of absolute stupidity, he looks up, meets the Dwarf's eyes, and drops his shawl off his head. He folds the fabric up in his lap, and scowls up at him, as the Dwarf all but drops his pipe in his eagerness to get back inside. “Look, now he has something more interesting to talk about.”

His second brother is looking at Ori in amazement, and just as quickly as the courage came, it's gone, Ori's face hot. “Dori's going to be so disappointed,” Nori huffs, amused, pulling Ori in close. “You picked up some of my bad habits after all.” 

“Guess so,” Ori agrees. 

To his surprise, Nori reaches over, and covers Ori's belly with his palm. He doesn't say anything, not sure what's going through Nori's head. He lets his brother touch him, lets him think. “You're so young. But I was younger, you know.” He knocks his temple against Ori's, his hand still on Ori's belly. “You're going to love it so much, little love.”

“Are you going to be all right?” He has to know. “I don't want to upset you?”

“Sometimes the colour of the sky upsets me,” Nori reminds him, teasing. “I cannot guarantee anything. You know how I am. But I'm home now, and Dori is here to keep me in line. Dwalin as well, for as long as he stays.” 

It's probably not the right time, but Ori starts to tentatively ask, “Nori, you say you...the poison, did it...?”

His brother drops his hand, and faces forward, looking out at nothing. “No. No, I can still bear. There's even been times where I considered it. Dwalin wants a child so much, even though he never says it. I see the way he is with his brother's children, his friends' children. He wants one. And I'd do anything for him, you know, but I just don't know if I can manage it.”

Ori asks the more important question. “Do you want a child?”

“If it's with Dwalin?” Nori closes his eyes. “Yes. But I don't know if it's the right choice for a child. I'm not sure I could be a good parent now. So for the time being...” He waves his hand, saying something and nothing at the same time. “It's getting late, and your husband will be worried.” 

He's not wrong. Fíli's been growing more and more protective of him ever since they found out. He hadn't even wanted Ori going to visit without a guard. He's tired any way. He's always tired these days. A nap sounds good now. “Do you want to walk with me?” 

“No,” Nori shakes his head. “Likely not the best idea. I've been erratic, as of late. Who knows? I might try to strangle your lord husband when I see him.” He's being funny, or trying to be. That's a good sign. “I should go see Dwalin, actually. He'll want to see for himself that I'm not a mess. Or maybe I should let him hunt me down. It's good for him to get a little exercise.” 

That sounds less funny, but Ori's not sure what else he can do for Nori now. 

“I'll see you soon, Nori,” Ori says, standing. “I'll come by the guild house.” 

“Until then,” Nori replies, the corners of his mouth turning up. 

Dori is sitting at the table still, his empty wine glass in front of him on the table, the bottle beside it. 

“I'm going home,” Ori says to him. 

“All right.” He fills his glass again, and Ori frowns, unsure of what it means that even with all of this, he's still happy, for the most part. “Be safe.” 

Ori is almost home when he sees Gimli, out walking with Legolas. They're not arm in arm, because with the height differences, they couldn't, but they're close, and the prince is smiling down at Gimli. When they see Ori, the prince's smile grows, but Gimli stares for a good long moment before starting to laugh. He comes forward and embraces Ori, surprising him so much it takes a minute to return it. 

“I think I have missed the joke,” Legolas says, waiting beside them. 

Gimli reaches up and teases at one of Ori's uncovered braids. “We'll be welcoming a new life soon, my love,” he explains. “I thought Fíli seemed rather smug lately.” 

Legolas frowns, but then he's smiling. “Congratulations, Your Highness. And to your husband as well.”

“We should celebrate!” Gimli declares good-naturedly, clapping Ori on the shoulder. He hadn't realized just how strong Gimli was, and it seems Gimli doesn't either. 

“I think you'll have to compete with the Princess,” Ori reminds him, and _this_ is what he wanted. No machinations, no hard histories, just someone who wants to congratulate them, be happy for them. 

Gimli waves that off. “She'll have her proper feast, but we'll have a small party of our own. One that's actually fun.” He throws an arm around Ori's shoulders, squeezing him. “If you're lucky, you'll see Fíli drunk. He sings when he's drunk, him and Kíli both.” 

“Oh, and you of course would never do that,” Legolas interjects, looking down at Gimli slyly. 

“I'll sing to you now, if you like,” Gimli teases, looking up at him. “Come now, walk with us a way, cousin.” Ori doesn't seem to have a choice, Gimli pulling him along with them. He doesn't mind though. “Now, I think I've put up with Fíli long enough to be called 'uncle', not 'cousin', and besides, if I let Fíli have his way, he'll have the child calling me 'little cousin' just to be spiteful.” 

“He likely would,” Ori concedes. 

“Tell me, are there ceremonies associated with having a child amongst your people?” Legolas asks, walking slowly to keep pace with the pair of them. “We have some.”

“Oh yes, well, there are some traditions,” Ori begins to explain, and slowly, he starts to feel hopeful again.

♦

"Nori…"

Nori knows what Dwalin needs to hear. He knows he needs to put the blade down, needs to stop twirling it through his fingers. He’s scaring Dwalin.

He hates scaring Dwalin, so he hands the knife over, handle to Dwalin.

Dwalin takes it, and comes to him, kissing his temple. “My love, it will be all right, I swear, whatever it is.”

He wants to believe him. He does. “Ori is bearing.”

Now Dwalin pulls Nori in close, lets him hide in Dwalin’s bulk, lets him feel safe as he begins to cry, not for the first time since he’s learned. He cries, and rages against Dwalin’s chest, until his throat aches and his chest is tight. He had tried not to cry too much in front of Ori, make too much of a fuss, too afraid he would cause Ori undue stress, that he would harm this one too. He had done his best then.

With Dwalin though, with Dwalin, he can hold on to him and cry, his heart breaking all over again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And more art!
> 
>  
> 
> [Nori](http://pariahsdream.tumblr.com/post/89990215211/quick-sketch-30-mins-of-nori-because-march-is)
> 
>  
> 
> (But I also think I broke Pariah)
> 
>  
> 
> [Nori flashback! Look at Dwalin's cute little niece!](http://themarchrabbit.tumblr.com/post/90860567814/asparklethatisblue-a-scene-from)
> 
> [And look, more with Kiri and Mir, Balin's children](http://asparklethatisblue.tumblr.com/post/91245452803/from-themarchrabbits-until-you-see-the-light)


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took forever to work.

From his window, Thorin can see out over the walk to the palace and even further. It's not hard to spot Ori, not with his Elven entourage, the tall red-haired woman and the blond guard flanking him as they walk amongst the statues. Ori's head is uncovered, and it brings a smile to Thorin's face still. He knew Fíli was the right choice for a marriage to the 'Ri, knew his golden heir could charm the lad to their side. 

“Something interesting?” The sight that greets him when he turns has his smile growing. Bilbo is still naked in Thorin's great bed, mostly obscured by the thick blanket and fur twisted around his body. His eyes are still closed, one arm stretched above his head, the other over the blankets, adjusting them in some minuscule way. It's been decades since another body shared his bed for more than a night, and none were ever as welcome as Bilbo is. 

Thorin decides the bed is too big for Bilbo alone, so he rejoins him, dragging one hand down over Bilbo's soft chest and stomach to find his hip. Bilbo hisses a little when Thorin presses too hard, his fingers fitting into the bruise he left two nights ago by mistake, underestimating his own strength, or perhaps overestimating Bilbo's. He had apologised, embarrassed, but Bilbo had laughed in response, so Thorin's let it be. 

Now, he moves the covers aside and kisses the spot, Bilbo making a soft sound before pushing at his head. “Still not used to the beard,” he huffs, and Thorin comes up for a proper kiss. Bilbo claims Thorin's beard tickles his thighs, but he doesn't seem opposed to it anywhere else on his body. “What were you looking at?” he asks again, his breath warm against Thorin's mouth. 

“Ori is outside with the Elves,” Thorin replies, trying to decide whether or not he's ready to leave his bed. Today is one of the few days Balin has scheduled for Thorin to have to himself, and though there's a few tasks he wishes to accomplish, he can afford a little time for a lie-in. “I was very pleased when Fíli told me the news. The line of Durin remains strong, and will grow with every child Ori bears Fíli.” 

Bilbo wrinkles his nose. “I'm still rather unclear on that whole matter. Ori is...Fíli's _husband_ , and...he'll bear a child?” Thorin raises an eyebrow, not sure how exactly to answer a question he hasn't heard. “Could you bear a child?” 

“No,” Thorin chuckles, shaking his head. It's an odd subject to explain, simply because Dwarves never needed to. Their people were made as they were, and what might be passing strange to the other races was unquestioned in their mountains. “The direct line has never been blessed in such a way. No, the 'Ri carry it from their ancestor, the Lady Pari.” 

“Oh yes, her. I was treated to quite the history lesson about her.” Bilbo laughs to himself, encouraging Thorin into a kiss. “Is it true? How Ori told it?” 

“The 'Ri tell a different version than others,” Thorin admits, frowning in a second kiss. “Lady Pari was very beautiful, that much of the story is true. But the rest is open to interpretation. The king was obsessed with her, perhaps in love, perhaps not.” Some part of Thorin has wondered if Frerin was not the first of the line of Durin to become entranced by a 'Ri. “And whether or not her love for him was true, or she saw an opportunity to earn a place for herself better than the one she held in her home, I cannot say. It was all long before I was born.” 

Growing up, Thorin had been told the story by his own mother and father, but never had they seemed to believe she really loved him. There had been rumours she had troubles in her homeland, but only rumours, and maybe they had even been fabricated by Erebor's own court to discredit her. If she had indeed loved him, Thorin thinks the actions she had taken that had earned her the scandalous reputation were from her own disillusionment. Why name her children for a sire that would not claim them as his own, that would not even admit his love for her aloud? If the king had truly loved her, as a Dwarf loves, he could have stepped down earlier, and allowed his son to take the crown. 

Looking down at Bilbo in his bed, Thorin wonders about himself. If he had to, would he give Fíli the crown? No, he couldn't, not truthfully. Fíli is still too young and inexperienced to be king, especially with his marriage so new and a child on the way. “Maybe they were only using one another,” he says aloud. “He found her beautiful, she found him useful.”

“You don't believe in grand love stories?” Bilbo is almost impish, the lines around his eyes deepening in the firelight. 

“Not particularly,” Thorin replies dryly, deciding there would be no harm in spending another hour here with Bilbo. “I've only personally seen one love match come about, and it hasn't done either party much good, from what I've seen.” As of late, he wishes he could confide in Bilbo on this matter. Dís has been unmoveable on the subject of Nori, still unable to absolve him of blame in the whole débâcle, and forgive Dwalin for his unwavering devotion to the weaver. “I think that sort of love leads to nothing but pain.” 

Bilbo is still watching him, his smile turning into a frown. “You're worried about your friend, Dwalin, aren't you?” It catches Thorin by surprise, and Bilbo quirks an eyebrow. “It's hard not to hear the gossip at this point in time.” Thorin feels himself scowl by instinct. He had thought that gossip had long grown cold, but it appears to have been rekindled. “I'm quite sure most of it is a pack of lies, if it helps?” 

“It is,” Thorin insists hotly. “Most of them know nothing on the subject, and so they spin stories.” When Bilbo continues to look at him, expression more curious than anything, Thorin feels the urge to confide again. Bilbo is a stranger here, and he would have no stake in any of this, so where would the harm be? “I cannot tell you all of it. Truthfully, I do not know the whole of it. I do know that Dwalin is devoted to Nori, as devoted as he is to the crown, if not more. And Nori is...” Nori is a strange person, and though Thorin's never disliked him, he never much liked him either, even before things fell apart. He had not been the Dwarf Thorin expected to see at Dwalin's side, the sly creature too pretty for his own good, or Dwalin's, for that matter. But anyone who knew Dwalin could see how ensnared Dwalin was by Nori, and though Thorin had never been close to Nori, there had been something in his manner when he was around Dwalin, the way he would turn into him, look up at Dwalin so openly. “I believe Nori feels the same.” 

“And where does Frerin factor in?” 

Thorin's throat sticks, his courage gone. He cannot say what his brother did, even now. He knows, he's always known, even if Dís and their father refused to believe it. The luxury of delusion was denied Thorin though, and sometimes he hates that he still loves Frerin. How can he love someone who did something so disgusting? 

_Rape_. That was what Dwalin had confided in Thorin, the morning after Frerin had announced that the 'Ri mother had promised him Nori, at a breakfast. He had sat there, shocked, and he had drawn his brother aside after, demanded an explanation when he knew for a fact that Nori was involved with Dwalin. Frerin had dismissed him, his face cold and twisted in such a way Thorin almost could not recognize him. He had crowed his success and even mocked Dwalin in a way entirely unlike himself, taunted Thorin with hints of usurping Dwalin's claim on Nori. Thorin had felt the beginnings of horror, and he had prayed he was wrong, prayed his suspicions were unfounded. This Dwarf was not his brother, was not Frerin. Frerin would not do something like that.

But then Dwalin had come into the training grounds, had grabbed Frerin by his collar and slammed him bodily into the sawdust. It had taken Thorin, Dís, and Glóin to pull Dwalin off of him, and by then, Frerin's face was bloodied, his collarbone cracked in two places.

Frerin was his brother by blood, but Thorin had not been able to blame Dwalin. He had been surprised Dwalin didn't kill Frerin when he told Thorin what Dori had been able to tell Dwalin about the situation. When Dwalin had confessed, his eyes wet, that when he had seen Nori, Nori could not even bear his touch, Thorin had known what had to be done. No matter that Frerin was his brother, that he was a prince. There would have to be a trial, and if there was enough evidence, Frerin would face execution.

Thorin had been young, but he already knew the burden of his station, and there was no room for leniency in this. Rape was a deep offence on its own. The rape of a bearer was grounds for the axe. 

He had been prepared to do what had to be done, but the king had not. Already, he was deep in the throes of madness, though they had been lying to themselves about it. He had not cared about Frerin's crime, had instead suggested Nori was a pretty enough bearer, and whatever Frerin chose to do with him was within Frerin's right. Thorin had realised then how alone he was.

So he had been the one who looked the other way when Nori made his escape. After all, Dwalin was his brother too. Not in blood, but in other ways, just as important. 

“Frerin believed himself in love with Nori as well,” Thorin says at last. “He convinced Nori's mother to sign a marriage contract, promising the line of Durin one of her sons. But Nori ran. He never agreed to it.” And now the easier part, at least for him. “But because the contract existed, it had to be fulfilled. One of her children had to be given, as did one of ours.” 

The realisation is visible in Bilbo's face. “Fíli and Ori were the substitutes?” 

“In our culture, a marriage contract such as the one their mother signed is nigh unbreakable. Even for a king, after I took the crown.” Which had been very soon, the old king declared unfit at last. “I could not. If I did, the consequences would have been more dire than a broken heart or three.” He had hated condemning Fíli to his fate, Fíli who he loved as a son. But the line of Durin had to be protected. Erebor had to be maintained. “Luck was on our side. Fíli and Ori are well-suited, don't you think?” At least there is that. His sister-son had been uninterested in Ori as a person for most of his life, until the day he actually met Ori.

He'd seen it in his sister-son's face when Ori stepped into the room, the spark as he looked Ori over. It had only been lust, but Thorin had taken it as a good sign, and it had been. They haven't even been married a year, and already, Ori is bearing their first child. 

Bilbo shakes his head. “I think Fíli is falling in love with him, if he isn't already.” 

That ruins Thorin's ease. He's known Fíli is fond of Ori, and he'd been happy in a removed sort of way that Fíli found his husband pleasing, to judge by his late mornings and eagerness to return to Ori's side. But love? “Master Baggins, you might misunderstand. Dwarrows, we show affection easily. It does not always mean -”

“Thorin,” Bilbo interrupts, sighing, his hand on Thorin's chest. “Don't pretend you cannot see it.”

“I pretend nothing.” 

Bilbo's hand follows the lines of Thorin's tattoos for a moment, stretching enough his collarbone juts out a bit more on his mostly smooth chest. Hobbits are odd creatures, Thorin thinks again, trailing his eyes down Bilbo's chest. He's not completely smooth, though the hair on his chest is much finer and sparse than most Dwarves. No, the larger differences between himself and Bilbo seem to be in the places Thorin cannot see. Under his hands, Bilbo's bones feel as delicate as a cat's, and where the hard muscle of a Dwarven body would be, there's a curious softness. 

“Fíli would not be so foolish,” Thorin protests, leaning over to kiss Bilbo's collarbone. “After everything that has passed between our families, I do not believe Ori would ever feel that way towards Fíli.” He might come to like Fíli very much, and that's better than many of the arranged marriages Thorin has seen. “He's bearing Fíli's heir. That's all I ask of their marriage.” 

“I think you're being wilfully blind,” Bilbo says, turning into Thorin's touch, apparently agreeable to Thorin's idea of how the pair of them should spend their morning. “Did you know, I thought theirs was a love match when I first met them? I had no idea they had been arranged. Ori told me about the war, and how Fíli had saved his cousin.” 

“Considering how many in Erebor can count themselves as a cousin to Ori, I would be more surprised if Fíli had not saved one. The family is so numerous they all but control two of Erebor's guilds, the Weavers and the Jades.” 

Bilbo clears his throat, and asks, all-too-lightly, “Ah, yes, your sister took me to visit their house. I was expecting jewellers or miners, not...ah. Well.” Thorin finds himself confused, wondering why Bilbo would assume jades were anything but jades. “We don't refer to them by that moniker where I am from. I was quite surprised.” 

“They are only jades,” Thorin says, uninterested for the most part and not quite understanding why Bilbo is.

“It's only that my people would never so openly advertise such services,” Bilbo continues, frustrating Thorin. He has no desire to discuss the guilds, and if Bilbo does, he would be better off asking Dís. Thorin only knows that they pay their taxes on time. “I even saw some who were not Dwarves.” 

“The guild would be foolish not to cater to various tastes.” Thorin's desires are unremarkable, but not all in the Mountain are the same. “They would lose revenue when those with such tastes decided to go elsewhere.” And no guild in Erebor would part with so much as a half-copper if they could help it. “I must admit, Master Baggins, I am more interested in what goes on in this bed than any of the remarkably fine ones in their house.” 

He thinks he's won Bilbo's full attention again for a few long minutes of kissing, but then Bilbo asks, “Are they a very powerful guild, then?” 

“Any questions you have about the guilds are better asked of my sister,” he says, feeling his patience fray. “Is there a reason you're so curious about them? I do not believe that is quite the information your master was seeking when he sent you here.” 

Bilbo scowls, obviously offended now. He does not like it when Lord Elrond is referred to as his master instead of his patron, some nuance of cultural differences between them turning it into an insult. “I was only asking a question, Thorin.” 

“Yes, you ask a lot of questions.” He himself has had the embarrassment of being questioned by his own sister-sons on his choice in bedmate in recent days, and Dís had, as always, put in her own unwelcome opinion on the matter. Thorin hates being questioned by her, above all others, because when she does, he sees the worry in her face, that perhaps Frerin is not the only one amongst the three of them that's been touched by the madness. “Why do you ask so many questions, Master Baggins?” 

“Because I'm curious.” Bilbo's tone is tight, warning Thorin away from this line of questioning. He knows what Dís and the boys suspect him of, had known before any of them said anything to Thorin. It had been very polite, how he phrased things to describe Fíli's guarded hostility and Kíli's obvious siding with his brother, not that Thorin would ever have expected different. Kíli has always followed Fíli's lead. “If you think I have other motives, I'm rather concerned by your methods of interrogation.” 

The comment isn't out of line. Bilbo is naked in Thorin's bed, and not for the first time. “I'm sorry,” he says, kissing Bilbo's temple in an attempt to console him. “I don't believe what my sister-sons do about your Lord Elrond. You say he is a fair lord. I believe you.” For the most part, he does. Thorin isn't sure how he feels about a king that doesn't call himself one. There's something inherently dishonest in it. Thranduil might be all but unbearable at times, but he's a king and never pretends otherwise, and his children are pleasant enough. Legolas especially enjoys being in Erebor, for Gimli's sake.

And Thranduil can be amiable, when he feels like it. Thráin and Thranduil had detested one another, but Thorin likes him as much as he can ever like an Elf, and Thranduil seems to feel the same. 

“Fíli has never been the easiest with strangers. His time on the battlefield did not help that. To him, you are a threat.” His suspicions had not been out of the realm of possibility either, and even now, they're still in the back of Thorin's thoughts. What if he's right, and Bilbo is a spy? Thorin will have personally invited danger into their kingdom, and brought it right into his family's home. “I believe the news of the baby has him feeling more protective as well.” In that, Thorin can give him no blame. When Dís had been pregnant, Thorin and Hemli both had wanted her constantly attended, to her great annoyance. 

“Yes, well,” Bilbo huffs. “That's only natural, I suppose.”

“I suppose,” Thorin repeats, mocking him even as Bilbo finally ceases his questions and raises his head for a kiss. 

Beneath the blankets, it's easy to slide together again, Thorin brushing the worst of his suspicions aside. Bilbo is not lying to him, not about this at least. This connection between them is real, it must be. No one has ever found this place in Thorin's heart before, and he's reluctant to part with the feeling, even if he knows he needs to be more cautious. 

“Thorin,” Bilbo sighs, and the thoughts are chased away, back into the shadows of his mind where they belong for now.

♦

“Blue, three from the top, two from the left,” Fíli calls, and looses an arrow. He makes the target, but only just barely. He scowls at the target, sure that the shot wouldn't have killed a sparrow, much less an enemy. “Damn it.”

Gimli takes aim now, the gears on the new bow turning smoothly. “Same target,” he announces, and releases. The arrow embeds itself deeply, the sound loud enough Fíli raises an impressed eyebrow. “Look at that,” Gimli says, clearly proud of himself. “That's a killing shot for sure.” 

“No doubt,” Fíli agrees. “Congratulations, little cousin. Damn thing finally works.” 

“Was there ever doubt?” Legolas asks from the bench, where he restrings his own bow. He doesn't often practise with them, seeing as how there would be no real challenge, and half the fun of shooting is winning. “I must say, where your people lack in grace, you more than compensate in force.” 

“Was that a compliment or an insult?” Fíli drawls, no real heat in it. “Here, Gimli, let me have a try with it. It's no good to the archers if you're the only one who can use the damned thing.” 

His little cousin hands it over, pouring himself a small glass from the pitcher of red wine set out for them. Fíli's had one of his headaches all day, and usually a little wine throughout the day blunts the edge of them. “Careful with it, now,” Gimli cautions. 

Fíli nods, concentrating on working the thing, but no sooner as he started to wind it back, his hand seizes and he just barely manages to stop the bow from falling. “Take it,” he hisses, forcing it back to Gimli so he can cradle his hand. It continues to spasm, Fíli trying not to tense up any further and make the pain worse. The feeling, as though invisible fingers have reached inside his hand and grabbed at the veins and muscle, wrenching them out of place, is excruciating, and he has to sit at the bench beside Legolas. 

“It's his hand,” Gimli is explaining, as he kneels in front of Fíli, and forces Fíli to show him the hand in question. “The last war, an Orc bit him. Got his ear too.” 

“Ear never hurts like my hand,” Fíli complains, the pain refusing to ebb this time. “Damn it!” 

Legolas touches Gimli, getting his attention. “Tauriel and Miro are touring the statues with Ori in front of the palace. Find her, immediately.” Kneeling, he and Fíli are of a height, and Fíli can see the queer, shifting colours of his eyes up close. “Tauriel has always possessed a talent for healing.” 

Fíli's in no mood to argue. His hand aches in a way it hasn't since the wound was first suffered, and when he tries, he finds his fingers refuse to move. “No,” he protests, struggling. They tremor with effort, and pain lights a fire down the bones, all the way up his wrist. 

Tauriel arrives before Gimli, unsurprisingly. She kneels beside Legolas and takes Fíli's hand, muttering to herself in Elvish, Fíli thinks, though there's something off about the words. Elvish, when he hears Legolas and his brother speak it, has a slippery quality to it. This Elvish is different, and he tries to focus on the differences instead of the pain as her deceptively slim hands force his fingers to uncurl. It hurts worse than ever, and he feels his short nails through his trousers as he maintains control over himself. 

“The damage is deep,” Tauriel says in Common. “And there are parts that never recovered from the wound as they should have.” Gently now, she brushes her fingers over where the worst of it is, and the pain finally subsides. “The damage done can never be completely undone. Once something has scarred over in this way, it falls out of my reach. I can soothe it, for now.” 

It's still a dull throb when Gimli rejoins them with Ori and Miro. Ori comes to him without being asked, and raises the scarred hand to his lips in a kiss to Fíli's knuckles. “It's just my hand. I'm fine,” Fíli says to him, turning his hand so he can cup Ori's face. “Don't worry. It's not good for the pair of you.” 

“I'm not an invalid,” Ori mutters, covering Fíli's hand with his for a moment. “Óin told you to be more careful with this sort of thing. Why can't you just listen to reason?” 

“I've been told I'm stubborn,” Fíli says, stroking Ori's cheekbone with the pad of his thumb. It's comforting to touch Ori now. “Maybe they'll take after me.” He drops his hand and flexes the fingers, relieved to see them obeying with little more than an ache now. He needs to apply the salve Óin gives him, and wrap it. 

Gimli sits back down beside Fíli, and claps him on the shoulder, hard enough it jolts him. He glares at his cousin, but as always, it has little effect on Gimli. Fíli sometimes swears he was dropped more than once as an infant. “Gave us all a turn there, didn't you? Thought you might need your smelling salts, even,” he mocks, clapping Fíli again. “Suppose it doesn't much matter if you die now that you've secured the line, does it?”

“I'm going to have you assassinated.” One day Fíli really is going to do it, and no one will really fault him. He's not even sure he'd be in trouble, seeing as how he'll likely be the king by the time his patience finally snaps with Gimli. “And I'll give Kíli your beard.”

“Aye, there's cruelty to rival an Orc's in that heart of yours, cousin,” Gimli replies, frowning at Fíli petulantly. Ori has come to Fíli's side and begun to stroke his head, as he does in their home when Fíli has a headache, and he's close enough Fíli can rest his head against Ori's soft middle now. He chooses to do that instead of acknowledging Gimli, keeping his hand close to himself. “Oh, ignoring me? Playing the part of the wounded prince for your little husband, though mind you, if I had one as sweet as you Ori, I'd play any part you asked.” 

“Don't be ridiculous,” Ori murmurs, still stroking Fíli's hair. His headache is worse now that he can focus on it. He needs to lie down, knows he should have just cancelled this practice this morning when he felt it coming on. “I'm too short for your taste.” 

Legolas smiles, but Tauriel and Miro laugh, speaking in their own language. Fíli's Elvish is all but non-existent, but he knows enough about friends and cousins to hear jokes at Legolas' expense. Whatever they're saying, Gimli must understand, because he stands and grabs Legolas around the waist, bowing his head against Legolas' chest and laughing. He says something in Elvish, his accent rough even to Fíli's ears, but it makes Legolas smile, his long fingers combing through Gimli's thick hair. 

Tauriel takes Legolas' seat, smiling down at Fíli before looking at Ori, and asking, “You're feeling better now?”

“Did you not before?” Fíli's never been around someone bearing before. Ori himself has seem surprised by how few symptoms he's shown. Unlike his cousin, he's not ill all the time, but he's starting to tire easily, and he no longer rises before Fíli, instead content to stay a-bed until after Fíli is ready for the day. 

“Just tired,” Ori dismisses, shrugging. “I needed to sit down for a moment. Elves have more endurance for walking than Dwarves, is all.” He seems fine now, so Fíli lets it go, closing his eyes and concentrating on his breathing, closing his fist and opening it, over and over, forcing it to _work_. “Is that the new bow?”

“It is indeed,” Gimli says, holding it up for Ori to inspect. “Want to try?”

“I'm not very good with the training bows, even. Kíli says I need a few years before I'll be any good.” 

“Not important. I want to see if someone your size can pull it, is all. Come here, then, let Fíli cope, he'll live I'm sure, and if not, he has a replacement on the way.”

The Elves are interested in watching Gimli help Ori correctly hold the bow, but even with a headache, Fíli can see he's not the only one carefully watching where Gimli's hands are on Ori. He knows his cousin would never do more than tease, and Ori is perfectly capable of handling himself without Fíli's interference. But Legolas doesn't seem to be quite so easy with Gimli's teasing, his expression no longer as warm. 

Fíli thinks he'll have to tell Gimli, before that leads to a fight between them. Thorin has already made the arrangements with Thranduil for their contract. They're past the point of backing down. 

“I'm going to go to the healers,” Fíli says, standing. He kisses Ori on the temple, giving Gimli a warning look while he does. “If he puts his hands anywhere lower, have a guard cut them off.” Ori laughs, and turns his head for a proper kiss from Fíli. 

“If you would like, I could accompany you,” Legolas surprisingly offers. “I'd like to see more of your healers' techniques, and our own were interested in the burn salve a hunting party of yours had.” Fíli knows the one he's talking about, he thinks. It's a new mixture, one of Óin's experiments, and it smells foul. “Tauriel, Miro, stay here please. I want to be sure the bow can be used comfortably.”

Tauriel and Miro seem pleased at that, patiently waiting their turn as Ori fires off an arrow. It just glances off a target, but as Gimli said, that's not what's important. Fíli leaves them to it, headed off to where Óin keeps his main apothecary, outside the palace proper, but within the main area. 

He's never disliked Legolas, and they've always gotten on well enough, but there's something awkward between them as they walk. Fíli is curious as to what exactly is weighing on the Elf's mind, worried he wanted to be alone with Fíli to discuss something vital. The Elves keep the farthest posts, the ones closest to Mordor borders, after all. “Are your healers truly interested?” he dares ask. 

“Yes,” Legolas answers. Then he asks, “Your husband is considered very attractive by your people's reckoning, isn't he?” 

“Is he not by yours?” It's an odd thought to Fíli. Maybe he'll ask Ori later, if he remembers.

“Would you consider me attractive?” Fíli takes his point. He's used to Elves, but while Kíli never seems bothered by differences between Dwarrows, Men, and Elves, to Fíli, Elves are still very odd to him. They're stretched out and too thin, their faces sharp and removed. In any case, he doubts Legolas is offended, because he continues, “Your marriage is arranged, isn't it?”

“We like each other so far.” He remembers the way Legolas had watched Gimli's hands on Ori, and says, “Dwarves love very rarely, and once we do, we're steadfast in it. It takes more than a sweet face to sway us.” He doesn't embarrass Legolas by saying anything else, gives no hint he has any notion as to what Legolas must have worried over for a moment. They're not really friends, so it's not his place.

Legolas says nothing else on the subject either, but nor does the stiffness ease.

He'll have to speak with Gimli on this soon. He was the one who advised Thorin on the marriage, and his uncle will be displeased with him if it turns out he was mistaken. 

For now, he needs to focus on his hand. 

Óin is occupied when Fíli comes in, but he's quick to pass the patient off to another healer so he can attend Fíli. Once Legolas explains his own task, some of the assistants start finding what he needs; lists of ingredients, Óin's notes on previous mixtures, alternate ones he's also testing. Nothing Fíli has ever been able to muster much interest in, though he appreciates the results. The constant trial and error would likely drive him mad if he attempted to learn. 

“You're not doing enough,” Óin lectures him, wrapping Fíli's hand. “The She-Elf did a fair job easing the inflammation, but you're still coddling it. You stiffen it up. I've told you to heat the salve and wrap it every night, but you haven't, and don't you lie to me.” He sticks his finger right in Fíli's face, aggravating him. Óin always has an odd smell about him, caused by the medicines he deals in, and Fíli prefers some distance between them. “And you should start playing the fiddle again. It'll be good for your fingers.” 

He has missed playing the fiddle, and he did promise to play for Ori. He cannot remember the last time he played. 

His hand is still stiff that evening, and his building headache finally manifests fully, confining him to their dark bedroom for the entire evening, but by the next night, he feels well enough to run up and down the scales a few times before attempting a song. Ori sits on the sofa, his legs crossed under him, as he watches. Fíli's played for enough audiences he's not bothered, even if he still feels a bit clumsy as he begins. Trying at anything particularly difficult will likely end in embarrassment, so he plays a little tune first, the kind of bright, simple song played in taverns. He gets through it with little trouble, so he attempts something softer next, a lullaby he's always liked.

The transition from practice to simply playing is smooth and unnoticed as he slips into the music, working the spell of the strings and the bow, conjuring up a tale he hasn't ever thought to play outside of the guild house. There's a depth to it he was never very comfortable with, unsure of the feelings it spoke of. 

It's a love song, in a way, sad and longing. The story of it was a soldier leaving for war, singing of home and their beloved, and when Fíli reaches the part where the soldier dreams of their lover beside them in their bedroll, sweeping aside their braids, his chest constricts in a way it never has before when he's played it. He keeps his eyes closed, unwilling to leave the feeling, and he realises he's remembering his own bedroll in the war, and he's imagining Ori there, him combing his fingers through Fíli's hair and talking to him.

In another life, Ori would have been able to volunteer for their armies, and maybe he and Fíli would have met them. Maybe Ori would have liked him, fallen in love with him. 

The end of the song, and the soldier awakens alone. Fíli opens his eyes. 

Ori still has his closed, but he opens them when Fíli sits beside him on the sofa, reaching for Fíli. “That was beautiful,” he praises softly, and kisses him. “I know that song. I've heard it performed with a singer. It's very sad, isn't it?”

“Not really,” Fíli says, his own thoughts changing. “The thought of their lover keeps them warm at night, reminds them they have someone to come back to. Sometimes you forget that, during war. That every war ends, and you'll be able to come home and be safe again.” Because there had been a time Fíli had started to forget anything but war. The constant movement, the ever-present fear of ambush or assassins, of death, the noise and the quiet in turns, both seeming worse than the other when they were the current state, all of it had narrowed Fíli's vision to just that. War, and never peace, not in his mind. He could not remember peace, could not remember being safe in his own bed, could not remember being carefree and happy with his brother. Nothing but war had seemed real. “I forgot,” he confesses. “I forgot everything but that.” 

He doesn't know what he expects Ori to say to any of that. He has no concept of war, Fíli doesn't think, their lives so separate until their marriage. 

Ori doesn't seem surprised, his fingers burying themselves in Fíli's hair and stroking his head, as he likes. Once, recently, he tried to do the same for Ori, only for Ori to laugh and squirm away. For him, it's the back of his neck, all the way down to between his shoulder blades. When he directed Fíli down to the right area, he had almost fallen asleep under Fíli's hands. 

But for Fíli, it's his head, and now Ori places a pillow in his lap and allows Fíli to rest his head there. The same headache from yesterday has been bothering him, the edges of it flitting around in the corners of his skull. “You know,” Ori says, “Dwalin used to say things like that.” 

“He's seen more war than I have,” Fíli tells him, watching the fire. 

“He would have nightmares and waking dreams. Sometimes he still does. Nori could always bring him 'round though, eventually.” He's not the first soldier to have those. Fíli did for a long time as well, but they had faded after a time. “Your mother said something to me, when she found out about the baby. That if we fall to war again, you'll march with the army. Would you still?” 

“I told you before, I have to lead.” And he does. No matter what Kíli or anyone says, he does. If he wants the people to see him as king, to respect him, to follow, then he has to show he's willing to sacrifice for them as well. Dwarves will not follow a coward. Thorin is king and must rule, his mother must perform her duties, and Kíli even has a place. Fíli is the heir, and his place is on the battlefield. “You said they sang my name, before.” 

“I didn't know you then,” Ori protests, sighing. “I don't want you to go.” 

Fíli sits up, annoyed. “I don't particularly want to be slashed at either, but I have a duty.” He decides he wants a drink, and goes into his study where he keeps his favourites. There's a few good bottles of the stronger spirits Thranduil had gifted them with at their wedding, and he pours himself a glass now. 

It doesn't bode well that Ori follows. He feels an argument coming on. 

“You have a child on the way,” Ori says firmly. “You and your brother suspect something, I know you do, and if something is coming, something bad, you can't just ride off and get yourself killed -!”

“That's exactly what I am supposed to do!” Fíli didn't want to do this. He wanted a quiet evening in their home, wanted to play his fiddle again and be content, and now Ori has started this, over something that might not even come to pass. “I've secured my line! Even if I die, there's an heir. We've done our job proper, and here's the hard bones of it, Ori, I'm the Crown Prince, and I'll do as I like!”

His husband doesn't back down, but Fíli's not entirely sure he expected him to. “I'm a prince too now, isn't that what you told me? So should I do the same?” The thought turns Fíli's stomach, but he finishes the glass instead of saying that, sure it wouldn't go over well. “And don't you shout at me, I won't have it!”

Fíli's blood is still running hot, but no, he shouldn't shout at Ori. “I'm sorry. That was out of line.” 

“What is it you think you have to prove?” Ori asks, coming into the room, his arms crossed over his chest. He's wearing one of the too-big cardigans he'd come to the palace with, the weave loose around the cuffs, where he always pulls and tugs, and his braids are all undone. He looks young, too young to be questioning Fíli on things he doesn't understand, but he keeps going any way. “You're already a war hero. You've sacrificed already, and everyone knows it!”

“And they will very quickly forget when I'm king and I make decisions they don't like.” If Thorin had not been so decorated when the old king died, had not been so respected by their kingdom, the line of Durin might not have kept standing. Thorin had kept it all together, as Fíli must one day, and just being a descendent of Durin is not going to be enough in the face of a challenge. “That's what I have to prove, and our child will have to as well one day!” 

“So you would risk leaving them with just me? Is that what you want to be, just a story they'll never live up to?” 

“You don't know what you're talking about,” Fíli dismisses him, waving Ori off and pouring himself another drink. 

Ori huffs and snatches the glass from him, slamming it down on the table hard enough it sloshes out. “Then explain, and not like I'm stupid either, mind you. How is dying in battle going to serve Erebor? So your child can grow up never knowing his father but as some glorious shadow they'll have to live in? What am I supposed to say? I've known you less than a year, and I won't be able to make you real. You're hardly real for me just yet.” He grabs Fíli's arm, and Ori seems very small suddenly, even though he isn't really. He always seems afraid to take up space, curling into himself and hiding. “Fíli, I'm not even a century, you know. And I'm a 'Ri, and I know what everyone says, but we die in childbirth too.” 

He thinks he understands now. “I don't think it'd be a very happy childhood.”

“One dead bringing them into the world, the other dead in battle?” Ori laughs without any real humour. “I don't think that makes for a happy life at all.” His palms are cool when he reaches up and tucks Fíli's unravelling braids behind his ears. “Fíli, our lives...they're not just ours any more, don't you see?”

Fíli nods, but says, “My life has never been mine alone, you know. It's always been Erebor's.” Ori comes closer, looking up at Fíli curiously. “It's never belonged to just one person either though.” Because suddenly the baby has stopped being an idea and a _person_. They won't just be some copy of him or Ori, they'll be their own little person, and...

And Fíli stops thinking of glory or duty as he realises his child might grow up never knowing him, that he himself could never know them. He wants to know his child, the person they'll be when they're an infant, a toddling child, a young creature, and an adult. He wants them to know him, to be guided by a hand that loves them. 

Two hands that love them.

Ori looks young because he is very young, and Fíli is talking of making him a widower and their child potentially alone in the world, as though Fíli's life is the only one that matters. That's not how it is, not any more, and all his self-righteous anger sounds as a selfish child would. “I don't mean to leave you alone,” he says. “Or them.”

“I really do think it's a boy,” Ori says, looking down at his belly. “I don't know why. It's very odd. But your mother says it's not unheard of, for a bearer to feel they know.” 

“I don't care,” Fíli replies, because he honestly doesn't. “It's ours. That's all that matters.” 

“I really do like Fírin for a name. But if I'm wrong, you can choose.” 

The heat is gone from their quarrel. “Pari,” Fíli says, without hesitation. “For the queen that should have been.”

To his surprise, Ori laughs, and shakes his head. “You know, we still have stories about her. Not the important one, but little stories, and honestly, I don't think she wanted to be queen. I think she loved the king, and wanted a marriage, but...I don't think she would have even been a good queen. She rather liked to gamble, and a good deal of her descendants are amongst the Jades, and not because they were the sellers.” 

“I notice you don't tell those stories around Erebor,” Fíli says dryly. 

Ori shrugs. “They're family stories.” He takes Fíli's hands and puts them on his waist, giving Fíli encouragement to come closer. “You're my family now too, so you can know some of them. Not all of them, but some.” 

“I'm your family?” 

“Aren't you?” Ori doesn't wait for an answer, not seeming to need one. He leaves the room, but comes back after a minute or two, Fíli cleaning up the spilled drink. He doesn't really want anything more now. Maybe tea. 

When Ori comes back, he has a box in hand. “What's this?” 

“Your piece was delivered today from the jeweller. She says mine will be done in a few days, and I thought I'd wait until then, but, well...she says she can modify them if she needs to, that they might not be as pretty as they could be. She's never worked with them before, you see, so she didn't want to ruin them.” 

Fíli hardly cares about how pretty they are when he opens the box, and finds two cuffs resting on folded dark cloth. Silver, of solid design, the seven stars of Durin set in each one, with a polished pearl at every point but the centre, where a fire opal shines. “Are these your pearls?” he asks, lifting one out, disbelieving. 

His husband takes the cuff from him, and secures it around his right wrist, then does the other. “Are you going to run off with them, start a new life in the Iron Hills?” Fíli shakes his head. “Yes, they were mine. Now they're yours, and soon they'll be our child's.” So much of what the gesture means goes unsaid, but it likely doesn't need to be, in any case. “I know you don't wear much silver, and it's not really what you like. You only have to wear it a little.” 

“I'll wear them,” Fíli promises, raising Ori's hands to his lips so he can kiss both palms. “I like Fírin,” he says, because it's important. “It's a good name. If you're wrong though, I get to choose. And don't think I won't get drunk enough to promise it to Kíli or Gimli.” 

Ori touches the pearls on one of the cuffs, spreading his fingers out over them. “I don't mind.”

He looks down at Ori, and the cuffs, and says, “I cannot promise I won't die in war, Ori. I do have to lead the armies. It's my responsibility. I can be more careful. But if something is going on, like we think it is, I will have to go.” He tries to make Ori understand, insisting, “I will be more careful, if it happens, but even if I do die, you won't be tossed aside. There will be family for the both of you.” 

When Ori leaves his hold, Fíli's disappointed, but he doesn't think Ori is cross with him again. He's troubled, turning towards the door. “I want tea,” he explains, and Fíli thinks that's the end of it, at least for tonight, but Ori glances at him quickly, and says, so quietly Fíli almost doesn't hear him, “Even if I wasn't bearing, I wouldn't want you to go.” 

There's no time for Fíli to respond, because Ori leaves the room to ring the bell for a servant. 

He adjusts the cuffs, admiring the pearls in a distant sort of way. There's really no right response, in any case, not in their situation. For Ori to even admit that aloud, it stirs inside of Fíli, encouraging something that should perhaps not be. 

They're content with one another. Fíli won't ask for more from Ori, and despite what everyone thinks, he's not foolish enough to set himself up for disappointment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts?


End file.
